A Friday
by Neige
Summary: Modern day. It's Friday, and Glorfindel is heading home early: a study of Elves living amongst us. Chapter Twentytwo: a house, a recipe, a postcard, a Friday. Complete.
1. A Question

_-Note-_ Hmm…the style's a little different than anything I've tried so far. This could probably be considered AU, because it takes place in modern earth. I don't think Tolkien meant for his Middle Earth to cross with ours. And yes, I'm still having problems with formatting. I had to go in and hit return every time I wanted a new paragraph or a blank line between paragraphs. Gah! I'm not sure why each paragraph isn't indenting. I'm very, very sorry!

_-Archival-_ (18 January 2005) Ask me for permission, please.

_-Disclaimer-_ All of Tolkien's characters, places, etc. belong to him. And I'm not making money from writing fan fiction. Goodness, no.

A Friday

It was Friday, thank the Valar.

Friday, and he was going to slip out of the office early, go back to his townhouse, and relax. Preferably, with a good book- the fall of Numenor, perhaps.

He pulled the zipper on his briefcase shut with relish, took a last look out of the windows of his corner office, to the rainy sky beyond, flicked the light switch, and closed the door behind him.

He ducked through rows of cubicles, past his secretary's empty desk, and hurried to catch the elevator.

The doors were sliding shut, but Glorfindel sprinted the last few steps, (maintaining his dignity and grace, as always) thrust his arm through the gap. The doors halted and moved back, and he walked in, as sagely as he could.

He sighed, glanced at the panel of buttons, and saw that someone had already pressed his floor. Car Park: Ground Level. He turned, and found himself face-to-face with Helen, his secretary. She gaped up at him, color draining from her face as though he were a troll- or balrog.

"Mr.- Mr. Findel, sir!" she stuttered. Glorfindel gave himself a mental shake.

"Hello, Helen," he said smoothly. "Looks like we had the same idea this afternoon." He congratulated himself on his accent. After all these years, rarely interacting with Elves (although he did see Elladan and Elrohir often enough), he still managed to sound like one as he spoke the tongue descended from Westron. It was true. Elves changed little. Though he, Glorfindel, had learned to adapt long ago, after his return to Arda, he was still slow.

Helen shifted an empty coffee thermos from one hand to the other, looking terrified in her kaki pants and bulky sweater. Friday, casual day.

Glorfindel brushed a piece of lint from his suit.

"Yes sir, I-" she stammered.

"Well, I won't speak of this if you won't, he grinned. Quite dashingly, he imagined. She relaxed with an audible _whoosh_.

"Thank you, sir. I…appreciate this."

He shrugged. A sweet girl, only a few years out of university. New to her job, stunned and horrified to be working under one of the highest-ranking men in the company.

The floor counter was dropping. From 72 to 54. Time to strike up a casual conversation, he decided.

"I am looking forward to going home with a good book. In this dreadful rain…" He grimaced. "You?" he had long ago learned to omit the "my lady" or "my lord" at the end of a question, but the words hung on his lips nonetheless.

"Oh yes sir. I'm going to my flat as well. Pack up my father's things."

The floor counter had gone from 54 to 3.

"Is he no longer living with you?" Glorfindel asked.

Helen stared ahead at the elevator doors, almost as if she were trying to will them open.

"No. He died."

"Oh." He stumbled there, for a moment. "Please accept my deepest condolences, Helen. I was not aware."

The bell sounded, the doors opened. She continued to stare very hard, and Glorfindel received the impression that she was trying very hard not to cry.

Time to change the subject, then.

"Are you going to the car garage?"

She nodded dully.

"I shall accompany you, then."

They left the elevator, passed past the security desk and lobby, walked through a glass revolving door.

The lot was covered, but Glorfindel could hear the rain pounding on the roof of the floor above. His secretary could not.

She slowed as they passed a concrete column bearing the sign, "A2: PLEASE REMEMBER THE LOCATION OF YOUR VEHICLE", and stopped before a blue, rusted hunk of car that Glorfindel swiftly concluded needed to be put out of its misery.

She smiled weakly. "Thank you, sir."

"Think nothing of it. I am very sorry for your loss."

She nodded again. Awkward silence.

He had just started to leave when she choked out-

"Mr. Findel, what comes after death?"

He stopped abruptly, polished shoes clattered on pavement. The look in his eyes- haunted, accepting, and, she thought, very, _very _old, immediately made her regret the impulsive question.

"After death?" he repeated, his outgoing manner- or façade? - dropping momentarily. "Rest, peace." He held her gaze. "Healing."

She nodded, unlocked her car door.

"It is not something to fear. However, dying…can be quite another story. Or so I have gathered."

Then, he was smiling once more, but Helen could not forget the look of him an instant before- certainty. As if he knew through experience.

"Goodbye, Helen. I'll see you next week."

"Goodbye, sir," she managed, car keys dangling limply from her fingers.

He left. His dress shoes, which had made such a noise when he had halted were now silent. His golden, shoulder-length hair fanned out behind him in the breeze of a passing car. He turned a corner, and was gone.

And Helen, alone, climbed into her car, wondering, not for the first time, just who her boss was.


	2. A Message

_-Note-_ Yes. Well. I'm back, I guess. I hadn't planned on continuing this. And then you reviewers asked for more. I couldn't add it right away- I was busy with rehearsals for a concert. The concert is over. That's my excuse, and I'm sticking with it!

_Disclaimer:_ Still not mine. Glorfindel's dog is an OC. His name is Alyaran, which supposedly means "rich king" in Quenya. Alyaran is a rich king because Glorfindel treats him like one. : )

A Message

The silver Mercedes sped easily along the city streets, between buildings with roofs so high one would have to risk a strained neck to look at. Glorfindel's eyes were on the road before him, now just beginning to crowd with the rush of commuters, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Chiefly, fucused on a warm mug of hot cocoa, his overstuffed lounge chair, and a book.

_Red light.  
_  
He had a microwavable dinner in his freezer- he'd heat that up. Glorfindel was a terrible cook, and knew it well; he would never force himself to eat one of his "creations" when even his dog had refused them. Moreover, even Elladan and Elrohir refused his cooking.

Ah, well.

_Green light.  
_  
He made it to his apartment without trouble, handed his keys to the valet, took the elevator to his top floor penthouse. One could not live on earth for so long and not amass a fortune, after all, but his quarters were rather sparsely decorated, with a decidedly Elvish feel. Some things would never change.

He opened the door, was welcomed by the sound of nails scrambling on hardwood, braced for the attack.

Here it was.

His overgrown golden retriever barely managed to stay on his feet as he rounded the corner, grinning foolishly, without a care as to the large strand of saliva dripping from his tongue. Glorfindel set down his briefcase, closed the door quickly, and knelt as the mass of shining fur hurled itself into his embrace.

"Did you miss me?" He asked, chuckling, in the silly voice he saved just for his dog. A long tongue slapped against his face, dampened his hair. He roughed up the dog's ears and stood. "Alyaran, my big fellow, how have you faired?"

Alyaran grinned.

Glorfindel patted the dog's head and made his way to the kitchen, and his dinner. He flicked on the light switch, grabbed the television remote, deftly changed the channel from a cartoon to a news program.

He unwrapped and unboxed his meal, set it in the microwave, and leaned against his counter to wait.

The anchorwoman, platinum blonde in a fuchsia suit, was on one half of the screen, explaining robbery footage on the other half. He half-listened as the story went to a field reporter, then switched directions altogether as a financial expert was interviewed on the recently announced merger between two mega-corporations...

...and then the weather: Saturday would be brisk and cloudy, with no rain. "An ideal Autumn day..."

_Ding-ding, ding-ding_. Glorfindel turned quickly to the microwave- with a warrior's rapidity, not a housewife's, pulled open the cutlery drawer, snatched a fork. The dish was something with noodles- its name was Italian, one of the few languages he had never learned. There were vegetables, too, but he didn't know which- the whole dish was drenched in a tasteless gray sauce. He was forcibly reminded of Dwarven _cram_.

He sampled a forkful with ginger delicacy. Thankfully, it was quite a lot better than _cram_, bland as it was. He headed into the dining room, sat at the head of a table meant for a dozen. Alyaran padded softly behind him, proceeded to beg mercilessly as Glorfindel began to eat.

He had left the television on, and now the brightly-colored anchorwoman spoke cheerily to an empty room. Alyaran would not be distracted, however, and continued to watch with dark, pleading eyes the plate of disappearing pasta.

Finally, he won.

Glorfindel turned his attention to the dog and sighed. Without a word, he pushed away from the table and stalked to the kitchen. The pathetic look on Alyaran's face disappeared immediately.

Alyaran devoured his dinner a moment later. Glorfindel watched in amused silence. Out of the corner of his eye, the blinking light of his answering machine reflected off the mirror-like silver of his toaster. A message? Who knew his private number? He was very careful with such things, how...

His heart gave an uncharacteristic lurch and he stepped sideways, jabbing the "Listen to Message" button with more vigor than was necessary.

Whatever he had thought he would hear, it wasn't this.

"Greetings, Glor," one familiar voice said cheerfully.

"It's us," said a strikingly similar one. Identical, almost, but his long years of knowing the speakers had taught him how to set them apart.

"We'd like to speak with you, since we're in town and everything."

"So give us a ring, won't you? You have our number. It's in your address book."

"Which is probably still in the cutlery drawer."

Glorfindel felt a grin creep onto his face. Not dashingly, but rather stupidly. The machine beeped, the message ended. He reached for the cutlery drawer, pulled out a dog-eared notebook, and flipped to the P section.

Some things would never change.

Thank you for reading!


	3. A Call

-_Note_- Well, the votes are in. After I posted the second chapter, I sat for a while and stared at the screen and decided that I would have more fun with a relatively laid back, plotless story, thankyouverymuch. Now I have a name for it, thanks to Neoinean: Character-driven. Hurrah! Special thanks to all who reviewed! Reviewer responses for chapter 2 are at the bottom. I've never done this before, so bear with me... And I admit: I'm not so fond of this chapter, but it was necessary I clear things up a bit. There will be more answering of questions next chapter, I promise. : / Keep in mind that it's still Friday.  
1 yen (Q)= 144 solar years  
-_Disclaimer_- Not mine.  
  
A Call  
  
He dialed the number carefully, waited.  
  
_One ring.  
_  
_Two rings._  
  
_Three-_  
  
A dull clunk, followed by a disgruntled, "What?"  
  
"Hello, Elladan."  
  
"Oh! Glorfindel!" Elladan didn't wait for an answer. "Good! Elrohir's next to me, I-"  
  
Another clunk, a muffled _oof!_, then: "Glor!" Elrohir cried.  
  
"Hey, you! I had the phone!" came Elladan's voice, more distant.  
  
"Put it on speaker, then!"  
  
There was a click, and Glorfindel sighed.  
  
"Have you two got things sorted out now?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," they chorused.  
  
"How've you been, Glor? We haven't seen you in...what, three years?" asked Elladan.  
  
"Same as usual. Same dog, same company, same delightful bachelor's pad." The last bit, dripping with sarcasm.  
  
"Any gray hairs?" asked Elrohir, barely keeping the laughter from his voice.  
  
He sighed again. "No, not today. You know how gracefully I age, little one. How have you faired? What have you been doing?"  
  
"Nothing, really. Neither of us feels much like working again, so we're wandering...or something," Elrohir answered. "Venice, Istanbul, Athens. We did the whole Mediterranean trip a few months back. Paid a visit to Grandfather last year, he's fine. Thranduil as well."  
  
"Good. I've been thinking that it's time I saw them again. I've not seen them in two...three yén, I think."  
  
There was a pause. "You're not...wrapping up your affairs here, are you?"  
  
Glorfindel thought for a moment. "Not sure."  
  
Awkward silence. Elladan broke it.

"Good," said Elladan cheerfully. "Anyway..."  
  
"We were thinking-"  
  
"Because we're in town and everything-"  
  
"That we could grab a bite to eat tomorrow. You can show us around," Elrohir finished.  
  
"Tempting," replied Glorfindel, "but haven't you been here before?"  
  
"Yes. In the last century, no. You know how things are. They change." He said it with careful nonchalance, but Glorfindel knew how true it was, how bitterly they all felt it.  
  
"I suppose. I know of this deli..."  
  
They made their plans, said their self-conscious goodbyes, and when Glorfindel hung up, he felt strangely unsatisfied. The aching loss he had learned to live with seemed to increase tenfold, as if he had lost his balance.  
  
He left the kitchen, threw himself into his overstuffed red chair. Across the sitting room, in a square of moonlight, Alyaran raised his head and twitched his tail half-heartedly against the wood floor. Night fell quickly in autumn, and as it had so often in the past several thousand years, it had crept up on him once more.  
  
He relaxed in his chair, exhaled deeply, scanned the books that lined all four walls. Nothing new, nothing he hadn't read before. Nothing that hadn't been there yesterday or last year, nothing that wouldn't be there when the sun rose the next day, or the next. Mustering his strength, he pulled himself out of the deep confines of the lounger, brushed aside airy curtains, slid open glass doors.  
  
The air on his balcony was cool and breezy twenty-four stories above the street. Almost fresh. A full harvest moon shone gold through the buildings, lighting his own golden hair. If he had come upon himself from behind, he would have congratulated himself on the dashing scene. Neat black trousers, his white dress shirt, hair fanning dramatically behind him.  
  
Alyaran padded softly through the open door, sat expectantly under his left hand. Predictably, the hand began to play with a long, flopping ear. Glorfindel leaned against the ornate, wrought-iron balustrade, looked up.  
  
The orange glow of city lights blocked out the stars he knew were overhead. They were still clear, he knew, in the forests- ghosts of their old realms- Celeborn and Thranduil kept watch over with others who had yet to sail. There were a handful, he knew, who like himself and the sons of Elrond still took part in the world of Men. Someday, though, they would leave. And so would he. But not yet.  
  
Glorfindel turned, with Alyaran in tow, left the balcony. He slid the door shut behind him, wandered into the bathing room.  
  
He showered- an interesting mortal invention, he mused briefly- and then lay in his too-large bed. Alyaran heaved himself up beside him and was soon asleep, drooling on the sheets.  
  
Glorfindel smiled, and thought of Saturday.  
  
--  
  
Thank you for reading!  
  
Responses for Chapter 2:  
  
Uineniel: I agree. There are enough Fellowship Reincarnated Goes Out to Bus Sauron & Co. fics out there- some of them are very good. But it's difficult to keep reinventing the wheel. You liked the answering machine message? Good! I've written the twins once before, and they were practically dripping with angst and brotherly love. So this is something different, though there's sure to be some reminiscing. Thanks for the wonderful support.  
  
Neoinean: Whoa! Thank you! I feel quite happy now. : D I think I answered one of your questions in this chapter...yes, there are more Elves. Not many, and mostly hidden away. I'll try and make the other answers show up in later chapters. In this respect, I think the story goes AU- modern earth is middle-earth a few ages after the fourth.  
  
Saturn's Hikari: Thank you! I'm glad you liked it more than the obligatory thank-you-review. Hurrah! This will turn out to be (I think) a bit of a character study of "modern" Elves. I don't think there'll be a clear antagonist- Sauron, for example- but that's not to say our Elves won't face problems. An Elf in modern times would be like a fish out of water- they just don't belong.  
  
Aerlalaith: What do the twins want? I haven't decided. Maybe just to check in with Glorfindel, have a bit of a reunion. I have to think about that...yeah, it can be assumed from this chapter (or at least I hope it can) that modern earth is middle earth evolved.  
  
Silent Banshee: Yep, "P" for Peredhil! : P I didn't really name them, otherwise. I'm a big twin fan, as well. A big House-of-Elrond-in-general fan, I guess. But Glorfindel is THE favorite Elf. : D Next chapter we'll actually meet Elladan and Elrohir and see what a few thousand years does for an Elf. Besides Glorfindel.  
  
GitaMerah: Yeah, they're here! Or at least, they will be! Helen is a character strictly for the workplace, I think. She's a little too shy/afraid for our Elf. Romance isn't out of the question, but it would only be Elf/Elf romance. I don't want Glorfindel robbing the cradle or something! : P


	4. A Meeting

_-Note-_ Here's another one. I am very excited to announce that I can now add Elladan and Elrohir to the character list! And yes, the P in the address book was for Peredhil! Hurrah! : D I will also be gone August 5-13. I will hopefully post another chapter before then. I'm trying be prompt and post one chapter a week. : )

_-Disclaimer-_ I don't own anything.

--  
  
A Meeting  
  
Apparently, the forecast he had seen the night before had been a faulty one.  
  
When he woke at dawn, rain was spitting from a dull, gray sky. He showered, dressed- old khakis and a brown woolen sweater-, made his way slowly into the kitchen. He managed to make himself toast without burning it, sat down at the head of his long dining table, and buried himself in the business section of the daily newspaper. He realized an hour later when he reached for a drink, that his tea, untouched, was stone cold. He drank it quickly as he could, fed Alyaran, and together they left for a hurried walk.  
  
The rain was of the steady sort- the type that could, and would continue for the rest of the day. He was wearing his old, sorry-looking coat. Long, and bottle green, something the twins would, no doubt, laugh at and ridicule him for. He'd had it for just over half a century, and it had begun to show signs of wear a decade ago.  
  
Outside of his office, Glorfindel was not one to trouble himself with appearances.  
  
Several hours later, without thinking twice, he pulled the damp cloak off the rack by his door, jammed at the elevator buttons, retrieved his car, made his way through empty streets and downhill toward the water.  
  
He had settled on a long, curving shoreline because the same, solitary sea- longing that pulled his kin across the ocean so long ago had never fully abated or lost its wonder. Often he and Alyaran would walk in the surf on the public beach, and his gaze would be drawn westward across the water. No, it wasn't that sea, and Aman was not on the other side, but the idea was still there.  
  
He parked around the corner from the deli, waited on a bench outside the door. Across the street, knee-height waves stretched onto sand. He put his hood up- it was still raining- and smoothed the wrinkles in his green trench coat. He was not talented with an iron, and never had been.  
  
He watched several people enter, checked his watch.  
  
Early. He was always early.  
  
He waited.  
  
Waited.  
  
Ah. Noon. Glorfindel slumped, sighed, checked his watch once more. A luxury car rolled past, slowly. It parked, a darkened window slid open, a gloved hand fed the meter. The doors opened. Black dress shoe, black trouser leg, long, black hair, smoky gray sweater with a smart white collared shirt underneath.  
  
Ah.  
  
High, delicate cheekbones, dark eyes surveying the deli's glass façade, sharp brows.  
  
Ah, and the other. They were identical to those who were not familiar with them, but Glorfindel had known them from their first cry in the open world.  
  
He stood, sauntered into the brick doorway.  
  
"Excuse me, sir," said one, in a voice that had not changed for millennia.  
  
"El..." the other began, staring, wide-eyed.  
  
"Stars, Glorfindel!" roared Elrohir, pushing aside his twin and embracing Glorfindel. Elladan stood back, studying him.  
  
"What ate your cloak, Glorfindel?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Nothing ate my cloak," he replied indignantly, "it's just...old."  
  
"Old and hairy," said Elrohir.  
  
"No, that's dog hair." He stepped back from Elrohir, which was very hard to do in a small doorway, and brushed off an offending clump.  
  
"Shall we go in?"  
  
"Lead the way," said Elrohir.  
  
Glorfindel turned, opened the door. A bell tinkled in the back of the small deli, behind the counter. An older man wearing a white apron looked up from the stool where he had been bent over a book.  
  
"Welcome, may I serve you?"  
  
Glorfindel nodded, exchanged glances with the twins, ordered sandwiches and water for them all. There was room enough for three tables, crowded together under the rain-splattered window. A solitary stranger sipped coffee and read the newspaper in the corner, and the room was silent as they seated themselves near the door.  
  
"Where have you been? I haven't heard from either of you in years," he said. He frowned. "Your father would not be pleased."  
  
"We told you last night...revisiting the Mediterranean." Elrohir lowered his voice. "It had been a good thousand years since last we saw it, you know. You were with us, after all."  
  
"I recall."  
  
"A vacation, I suppose. I think we needed one after the war, but we waited twenty or so years before going back to the continent," Elladan explained thoughtfully, examining his sandwich.  
  
"Stars, you should have been with us! You'd have enjoyed it greatly, I think."  
  
"Yes, Elrohir. Why don't you tell him about that day in Greece..."  
  
"_Elladan!_"  
  
"Well, you see, Glorfindel, Elrohir and I spent several days on the beach in Crete, and Elrohir found himself a lady."  
  
"A lady?" Glorfindel eyed Elrohir, who hid his face in his arm.  
  
"Yes, a lady. He quite fancied her, and after-"  
  
"Don't tell him how long, for the love of Eru!"  
  
Elladan grinned maliciously. "After _some length of time_, he deemed it fit to ask her father for her hand."  
  
"Oh, brother, _don't_..."  
  
"Little brother, do remember what happened in Turkey?"  
  
"Yes, but I apologized already!"  
  
"Apparently not enough," said Glorfindel, though he had no inkling of what had happened.  
  
"Exactly, my friend. As I was saying, he asked her father's permission. He was...a very emotional man. Went on a rabid tirade."  
  
He stopped his narrative, took a large bite of his sandwich. "This is quite good, Glorfindel."  
  
"Isn't it?"  
  
"Certainly better than your cooking." He looked up sharply, to make sure he had not offended. "Which isn't that bad..." he amended lamely, then continued on. "Threw his own home into pieces, I tell you. An absolute madman. Nearly choked the life out of this one," he said, gesturing to Elrohir, who still refused to show his face. "And then, he turned around completely, started _sobbing!_ Inconsolable. Babbling lunatic." He shook his head. "We left the island the next morning."  
  
Elrohir's face finally appeared from a mess of dark hair.  
  
"Never saw her again," he said. Not angry anymore.  
  
"That was thirty years ago, El. I expect she's got a nice family now, and children." Elladan patted his twin's back. "Cheer up."  
  
"Time flies, they say. It's true."  
  
"Not for us, though," said Elladan.  
  
"Never for us."  
  
Elladan shrugged. "I told you, Elrohir, we can sail whenever you like."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Good."  
  
"After the whole Geek incident," Elrohir said, glaring at his brother. "We went back to Grandfather. We left only last year."  
  
Glorfindel nodded. "Sill in that wood, is he?"  
  
"Aye." Elrohir smiled. "And the king, with a few of their subjects with them still."  
  
"Are they still quite content here?"  
  
Elrohir's smile faded. "Thranduil does not yet wish to leave, but he and Grandfather acknowledge that time is growing short. The forest shrinks, and dies. Give them a few hundred years, I think."  
  
"And you, Glorfindel? We've heard almost nothing from you," said Elladan.  
  
"Barring the occasional reference in the Business Section of the papers..." Elrohir added swiftly.  
  
"I haven't been traipsing around the globe, for certain."  
  
"Well, you think of something to tell us while I use the restroom. There is one here, isn't there?" asked Elrohir.  
  
Glorfindel nodded, pointed to a sign next to the counter.  
  
"Oh." He stood, folded his napkin, and disappeared through the door.  
  
He and Elladan sat in silence for a moment.  
  
"How are you holding up, Glorfindel? You look a bit tired," said Elladan, frowning slightly. He and the elder twin had always been closer, a sort of innate understanding ran between them.  
  
"I'm alright, fear not." It was a quick thing, but he managed not to add little one to the end of his sentence.  
  
"Glorfindel, I think it's time."  
  
"Time?"  
  
"To go. For you, anyway."  
  
"Elladan, you know very well that I can't sail yet."  
  
"Elrohir doesn't, I think."  
  
"I will leave when you are ready. You know that."  
  
"I know," said Elladan, and for the first time, Glorfindel realized that he was not the only one who was growing weary.  
  
At that moment, Elrohir chose to return. He didn't sit, but watched them intently.  
  
"Plotting against me, or something?" he asked jovially.  
  
"Brother, you know us too well."  
  
"I do."  
  
Glorfindel chuckled. "Shall we go for a walk? There's a beach across the road," he suggested.  
  
"It's raining, if you haven't noticed," said Elladan.  
  
"Brother," Elrohir explained slowly, "We're not going to catch cold out there."  
  
"No, I suppose not."  
  
They rose, gathered their napkins. Glorfindel regarded the almost uneaten sandwich in his hand, shrugged, threw it away with their garbage.  
  
He held the door open for the other two, and they stepped out into the drizzle. Together.  
  
--

Thanks for reading!  
  
_SilentBanshee:_ Thanks for the idea- I had thought about that. There's also a passage somewhere (in the Silmarillion? I can't remember!) about how Earendil, Tulkas, Fionwe, and Turin are the ones who finally get rid of Morgoth at the end of the world. There is, obviously, still time to decide- no matter what the outcome, our Elves would have to lose and the Valar would have to intervene. : / Not sure yet- I may just end (I don't know when) with Glorfindel sailing. And if a sequel is in order, that's great!  
  
_Aerlalaith:_ Yeah, that's what it looks like from here. I could make them have a go at Morgoth, but for now I'd rather stick to something laid back. Maybe during the school year I'll feel the need to vanquish a dark lord and take out my pent-up stress on him, but not yet. : P  
  
_Erestor:_ Welcome back! Thanks for the reviews- and yes, Alyaran watches cartoons all day, while Glorfindel is at work. He is a very spoiled dog. From the blatant canine love-fest that was chapter two, I suppose it's obvious that I have a dog. It's reassuring to hear that it's both funny (in a kind of dry sort of way) and sad- that's how I imagine Glorfindel. I wanted to make this kind of bittersweet. I'm glad it's working. And you liked the "dripping with angst" bit? Your mental image made me laugh. Don't worry about the sense of humor- I have a weird one too. Any sense of humor is a good sense of humor. : P


	5. A Walk

_-Note-_ I will gone August 5-14. Last chapter, I said it was 5-13, but I was wrong. : P I feel rather dim witted...but the 12 hour drive each way should give me time to write a new chapter or two. Who knows, I might even write myself ahead of posting...  
  
_-Disclaimer-_ I don't own this.  
  
--

A Walk

They left the shelter of the doorway, stepped into the gloomy drizzle, crossed the street. The sand was wet and heavy, but no footprints marked their passing.

As Glorfindel placed himself, protectively and by reflex, between the water and the sons of Elrond, Elrohir fished briefly in the pocket of his jacket, produced a knit cap, varying shades of gray. He put it on, tucking the tips of his ears under, met Glorfindel's stare.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Hiding your ears?"  
  
"I know you do, as well. You've kept your hair long for it. I'm growing mine out still. I cut it short last year." He lifted a lock of chin-length, raven hair. "Elladan thought I was mad."  
  
"You are."  
  
"Not so. I'd had long hair for Ages, brother."  
  
"So have I."  
  
"But you never tire of it. Your hair is down past your shoulders, and when there's wind, or many people, you put your cap on just as I have now."  
  
Elladan exhaled loudly and gracelessly. The wind and waves muffled it almost beyond Glorfindel's hearing.  
  
He turned to Glorfindel. "See what I have to deal with?" he asked.  
  
Glorfindel grinned. "I do, and you have my deepest sympathies. I, however, deal with you both."  
  
"Touché."  
  
"You really have taken on their mortal sayings, haven't you?" he mused aloud.  
  
"Never let it be said that we have not traveled outside of our homes, my friend," said Elrohir, smiling.  
  
"I see. I have a company to take care of, therefore I cannot know of things outside of my back yard."  
  
"First of all, you _have_ no back yard," Elrohir corrected.  
  
"And secondly," added Elladan, "well..." He frowned.  
  
"Apparently there is no 'secondly'!" Glorfindel laughed.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
"Well, I've been rather occupied. Being a businessman-"  
  
"Businesself."  
  
Glorfindel groaned. "Elrohir! I have been working while you have been playing. And romancing mortal women." The last bit, smugly.  
  
"Oh, let it rest!" he moaned. "It was twenty years ago! And I'm Elrohir Peredhil, remember? _Half-elven?_ I am licensed to be attracted to members of both races, thank you. We know it didn't stop my sister..."  
  
Ah. Awkward silence. Still a sore topic, Glorfindel knew. They're beloved sister, the closest thing to a daughter he had known, had died millennia past. Alone, under the winter trees of her Grandmother's wood. the land had changed since; the forest had burnt, the earth had been built upon. Was it not the same for every other sacred place?  
  
Glorfindel stopped, took off his old shoes, unrolled his socks from his feet, gathered them into one hand. He wandered into water until, when a wave passed, it soaked his trousers to the ankle. The water was cooling after a long summer, is was chill about his bare feet.  
  
"Let it be," he said. Elladan put an arm around his brother, mindful to keep out of reach of water.  
  
Another pause, less tense.  
  
"We'll not speak of it now. It was done years ago," Glorfindel said softly.  
  
"Aye. It's been rehashed enough, we all know," sighed Elladan.  
  
Good.

A change of subject, now. "How long will you be here?" asked Glorfindel.  
  
"We have a hotel room for tonight, then we're on the streets."  
  
"My home is always open to you both."  
  
"We know. We're not sure yet, though. It's time for us to start doing something productive." Elladan grinned. "It's been a while since I've actually had to work."  
  
"Let's hope you've improved, then, brother," said Elrohir, dodging a good- humored punch.  
  
"Have you plans for dinner?" Glorfindel asked tentatively.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir froze, disguised twin looks of suspicion. Or horror?  
  
"No..."  
  
"We thought we'd...  
  
"Explore on our own..."  
  
"Or something..."  
  
"We'll find our way..."  
  
A pause. Oh, he had them in a rough spot. He suppressed a laugh, that, had he allowed it, would have had the twins accusing him of temporary insanity.  
  
"Ah? What happened to this 'change' you spoke of over the telephone? Has the last century done nothing to the city?" Glorfindel waved an arm behind him. Shops and restaraunts marked the shorefront, and beyond, glass and steel towers rose, reflecting a dismal sky.  
  
Elrohir swallowed hard. "We...we..."  
  
It was entertaining, to say the least, to watch the sons of Elrond, handsome, poised, trained for public speaking, and at a loss for words.  
  
"We can manage," Elladan finished quickly.  
  
"Ah." Glorfindel nodded. "I must insist. You have so graciously employed me as your guide. I must repay you. I shall serve dinner tonight."  
  
He paused. "If you prepare is. I know how bad my own cooking is, thank you. No need to pretend."  
  
Sighs of relief.  
  
"Fine. We'll do it."  
  
"Glorfindel, you can kill a rabbit hiding in the brush from a hundred yards away, skin it, skewer it, roast it over a campfire, but you have absolutely no skill in modern cooking," said Elrohir, smiling.  
  
Glorfindel shifted his shoes from one hand to the other, put his free arm about the shoulders of the twins- his family-, pulled them into the water.  
  
"Glorfindel! Our shoes!" Elladan shouted, dangerously close to shrieking.  
  
He laughed, knee-deep now, his toes happily numb. "Nothing that won't dry in time, little one!"  
  
They were Elves, and they had all the time in the world.  
  
--

I'll be back on the 14th. Thanks for reading!  
  
_Erestor:_ You're review made me laugh out loud. Have you ever done Mad Libs? They're good for thinking of strange and random words...a favorite in my family. I'm glad you like the characters- I've tried to make them a bit more modern than Tolkien's Elves. Even an elf can't help but adapt a bit after several thousand years...I hope...and yes! Something really must be done about the quality of today's clothes! : P  
  
Neionean: I hope you enjoyed your vacation! I've been working on answering some of your questions in this chapter, but I won't name the city Glorfindel lives in, nor will I name the forests of Celeborn and Thranduil, nor will the ocean for Valinor be named. I have geographic areas I'm modeling the forests after, but I don't want to box them in or anything. Some parts are better off left to the imagination. I'm glad you agree. I haven't answered the "glow" question, but I will soon. Honestly! : D  
  
Noldo: Ooooh...a new name! I like it! As for a happy ending...I'm working on it. There are a few options out there that I'm thinking of right now. One of them is Glorfindel getting a new, lifetime warrantee cloak. : P Alyaran is a Golden Retriever. What else, for Glofindel?! I didn't want to commit Asfaloth sacrilege, but it was tempting to make him white and name him Asfaloth. flinches I'm rather glad I didn't. FAter the twins leave, Glorfindel's life will go back to normal and we'll meet more humans. Thank you for the compliments! Praise from the praiseworthy, indeed.  
  
Aerlalaith: Yes, I agree. It's for the better. I don't want to have one half of the infamous twins die on me! shudder I'd be in deep trouble, I think, with all of the twin fans out there. I wouldn't want to separate them anyway- Tolkien didn't really give us many details, but going off my own sibling relationships and the pairs of twins I know, it would be very difficult for both. I want to be realistic, so I kept them together as Elves. And there is the fact that I'd be strangled in my sleep by a twin fan if I killed one or both...


	6. A Short Talk

_-Note- _I'm back, and here's the chapter. Next posting will be on Saturday; school starts in a week and a half, and rehearsals will start back up on Sundays, Mondays for five hours and on Wednesdays for one and a half hours...so I'm warning you all early: chances are, I won't be able to maintain a regular posting schedule once school begins.

That's all I'm going to say here, but I will update my bio as often as need be to notify you of any impending updates/excuses. : P

_-Edit-_ 16 August. Thank you, Noldo, for pointing out the error! I've fixed it! :D

__

_-Disclaimer-_ Not mine.

A Short Talk

"Glorfindel, do you eat _naught_ but these frozen dinners?" asked Elladan, peering squint-eyed inside the refrigerator, holding a packaged meal.

"No!" he answered defensively. "I have plenty of soup. And stop staring in my fridge- you're wasting energy."

"Canned soup, I'll warrant?" Apparently, the other was not to be deterred. Glorfindel straightened defiantly. "Mm-hmm. You're going to learn how to make...something. Some food. I'll think of something."

"Don't even try." He snatched the package from Elladan and held it close, ignoring the growing dampness of his sweater.

"Elladan loves his food," remarked Elrohir from the couch in the next room. Elladan scowled in his direction.

"Glorfindel, where's the nearest market? I refuse to eat one of those meal-in-a-box things."

Glorfindel sighed. "Will you get lost?"

"Only if you don't give me directions."

"Fine. Left onto DiFigoro, right at the intersection at Buccini, left on Ninth Avenue. On the corner, you'll see it. It's called 'Johnson's Supermarket'."

Elladan closed his eyes for a moment, repeated the instructions. "Thanks."

Glorfindel nodded, put the packaged meal back in the refrigerator.

Elladan laughed at him, took his cloak from where it lay on the counter, left.

Peaceful quite.

Ah.

Elrohir spoke to Alyaran in a ridiculous boice.

"Oh you silly, silly puppy...sit down..._no_, sit...I didn't give you leave to drool on me...yes, sit. That's it. _Good_ boy."

Glorfindel grinned, entered the room, slouched into his lounge chair.

"He's gone?" asked Elrohir.

"Yes. Seems to think my frozen dinners aren't good enough for him."

"That's my brother. But you've got it wrong- he doesn't think they're good enough for _you_."

"I manage."

"I can see that. But Elladan is a bit more proper than either of us- and he does not like to see someone he loves...I don't know the word for it...a person he loves in a degrading situation."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, gestured to the penthouse walls, hung with Elven paintings.

"I know," said Elrohir. "But it would make him feel better to make a fuss over it."

"I didn't know he could cook."

"We've had a lot of spare time," Elrohir responded dryly. "Unlike _others_."

"Unlike me?" he sighed.

Elrohir looked at his knees. "You're a bit of a workaholic, it seems to us."

"A _what?_" he spluttered. "And Elladan is not?"

Elrohir shrugged. "I've gotten to him. It's not like he has the responsibilities of being an heir any longer. Imladris is long gone."

"Or any orcs to kill?"

If Elrohir had been any less of a man- or Elf- he would have looked shameful, but he frowned. "Or that."

At Elrohir's feet, Alyaran whined pitifully. Elrohir reached down, scratched an ear.

"And you, Glorfindel? Elladan thinks me too much of a 'free spirit' to see why you don't sail. I like to think I have a bit more than half a brain."

"You do Elrohir."

Elrohir smiled, looked up. "We can look after ourselves now, Glorfindel. You've trained us well."

"I know."

"And now you're different- changed, somehow. Not as...bright as you once were. You haven't given yourself room to think- and rest- in a long time, I think."

"Elrohir..." a warning pitched in his voice.

"You've done so much for us. All of us. Our father, mother, sister, Elladan and myself. You must have known that I've often felt closer to you that to Adar. If you do not need aid, tell me now and put my fears to rest," he challenged.

"I may cloak my identity and power as I will...but you are also right. The Elven magic fades more with each passing year, and there is less and less to hold on to. I am sure you have noticed this 'dimming' in your grandfather's wood. We're just weary."

Silence, then an answer. "That is true. I have. I understand, I guess...but I like it not to see it in you. It happens less with Elladan and I."

"That's because you're mutts."

Elrohir choked. "_Mutts?_"

"You're a bit of everything...Maiar, Man, Elf, Sinda..."

"The term I prefer is _hybrid_."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"But you're not- you're all Elf."

"I knew that."

"So...as the Elves leave and their powers fade, those who remain are weakened."

"That's what I think, anyway," said Glorfindel. He placed a hand on Elrohir's shoulder. "It is nothing that cannot be healed."

"But you won't sail."

"No, I won't."

"You're very stubborn."

"I have a life here, however trivial, and a promise to keep; I will not leave you here, and I will guard you carefully still. Your family is my own now."

Elrohir sighed. "Elladan's right. You are impossible."

"He said that, did he?"

"Many, many times."

"Well, he's a tensed up little heirling."

Elrohir laughed.

"That was weak, but he'll be amused." He withdrew his hand from Alyaran's ear. Alyaran fidgeted, rubbed cold nose on Elrohir's pant leg, stood, breathed heavily in his face. Elrohir flinched and immediately began to pet him.

_Thunk._

_Thunk._ The noise came from the floor in the corner.

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Tha-thunk thunk thunk tha-thunk._

Elrohir looked up, wide-eyed, startled. Glorfindel smiled apologetically.

"That would be Mrs. Rosenthal."

"Who?"

"My neighbor. Don't laugh, she's very elderly and not quite...in the here and now."

"Like us?"

"No, definitely _not _like us."

"Oh."

"Her children pay her rent, but live out of town. She likes to say hello to me."

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. Glorfindel stood, went to the kitchen. Elrohir heard, over the slowing 'thunks' of Mrs. Rosenthal, the clank of metal cans.

Glorfindel returned, carrying in one hand, soup, and in the other, cat food.

"I didn't know you had a cat," said Elrohir.

"I don't."

"Then-" he stopped. "Oh no."

"Don't be shy," Glorfindel grinned. "We're going to visit her, and I think she'll like you very much."

--

Ok, that's about as close to a cliffhanger as this will ever get, I think. :D The streets DiFigoro, Buccini, and 9th Avenue don't, as far as I know, exist. They are my default street names, and I use them often. : ) The 'Johnson Supermarket' is also an invention, as is Mrs. Rosenthal.

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Aerlalaith:_ I'm glad it answered the ear question. I speak from experience with Elrohir's situation, so it was quite easy to explain. I could cover my ears if I wanted, which was actually quite useful in winter. :P I chopped it off last May and donated it, and, looking ahead towards another cold, windy/snowy winter, I'll actually have to wear hats. sigh Elrohir and I like having short hair. And if a lock slipped, it wouldn't seem too odd (to me, at least) to see a pointy ear. Pretty cool, but not very strange.

_Neoinean:_ What would I do without you? Your questions are tough to answer, but bring up very valid points. The world-weariness bit was kinda-sorta mentioned in this chapter, but, as it figures importantly in the character of Glorfindel, will continue to be addressed. I've been working on my dialogue-writing (and working on knowing when to let the speaker shut up), so it's really good to hear that it helps build their characters.

_Erestor:_ blushes profusely Thank you! It's really reassuring to hear that. I'm trying a lot with this story that I haven't done before. The style is very different from what I usually do, and I'm always rewording things. Personalities? Yay! Writing Elladan and Elrohir has proved rather difficult. Maybe I should put humor/angst as the genre. That would confuse people, but I don't know about the 'humor' bit. Hm. You've done Madlibs? With brothers, words like 'burp' and 'barf' always manage to sneak in. Vacation was wonderful, thank you. I got to ride in a pick up truck- the car broke down. :P It was an adventure, and quite a lot of fun, though we were lucky. Rings geek that I am, I actually thought of "Car Trip" and imagined Celeborn and Galadriel being towed...it was very weird.

_Noldo:_ So am I! It would be a great injustice. The real Asfaloth would have haunted my dreams or something. shudder More humans? Well then, Mrs. Rosenthal is just for you, though she's not another pretty young secretary. She kind of snuck up on me. Maybe she'd be willing to knit Glorfindel a cloak. Without the guarantee. Elrohir gets to meet her, Elladan misses out. They'll be leaving soon, I think; a day or two more and they'll be gone.

_Saturn's Hikari:_ You're back! Hurrah! A digital camera? Oh boy...I'd be lost, too. El and El? I haven't heard those before...hm...well, I'll be sure not to kill them off. Or else hire a bodyguard... ducks below desk no, I swear I won't kill them! :P But they will leave in a few chapters...is that okay? Fear not, the story will have a happy ending, and no Elf shall perish!

_Nishy:_ Thank you! I didn't know my twins were different. Now I'm very curious. How so? I've read Prankster Twins and Protective Foster Brother Twins, and have tried to stay true to both those (despite the obvious lack of Aragorn- Glorfindel will have to do : ). Elladan and Elrohir spent most of the Third Age relentlessly pursuing and killing orcs, so I think they'd be a bit more serious. hmm...it's very good to hear that they're still in character. I didn't know it would be so difficult to write twins. I don't want them to seem very different from each other, or very similar, like the same character...hmm...


	7. A Neighbor

_-Note-_ Erm...not much to say. School on Wednesday, next Saturday there's some sort of neighborhood potluck think going on, but it'll be pretty boring...so it looks like the next chapter will be up on Saturday. Mrs. Rosenthal will return after this (I want to give her more dialogue, I wasn't quite happy with what I gave her here) but not for a bit.

_-Disclaimer-_ You recognize it, I don't own it.

A Neighbor

They took the elevator down one storey. Glorfindel led the way to Mrs. Rosenthal's door, knocked. The _thunks_ stopped abruptly, and before them stood Mrs. Rosenthal.

Her face was lined and wrinkled, papery and colorless but for two bright spots of rouge on her cheeks. Think gray eyebrows, snowy white hair pulled tightly back in a bun. In one arm, a golden-eyed tabby, in the other, a cane.

"Hello Mrs. Rosenthal," said Glorfindel brightly, giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Hello, my Gordon! What brings you down here?" she asked, with a thick Eastern European accent. Elrohir grinned. _Gordon?_

"You were knocking, remember?" Glorfindel pointed toward the ceiling. She thought for a moment, glassy-eyed.

"Ah. Right," she said at last, examining her cane. Elrohir suspected it was responsible for the thunking. Her gaze fell on him, her eyes lit up.

"Who is this gentleman, Gordon? Where are your manners- you haven't introduced him to me! Is he your brother?" She shifted her cat, who mewled complacently, into the arm with the cane, put her free hand to Glorfindel's ear and whispered.

"Quite a handsome young fellow, this one. My dear, if I were younger..."

Elrohir pretended not to listen.

"He's a friend of mine," explained Glorfindel. "His name is..." a brief pause. "Elliot." Elrohir stifled a protest. "Elliot, this is my lovely neighbor, Mrs. Rosenthal. Mrs. Rosenthal, this is my friend, Elliot."

Mrs. Rosenthal held out a swollen, arthritic hand and Elrohir took it gently.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rosenthal," he said, bowing slightly. She laughed.

"Where have my manners got off to? Do come in, Gordon and friend."

"Ah, Mrs. Rosenthal, I have some soup for you," said Glorfindel as she led them in.

The apartment was large, walls hung with quilts and photographs of family. Dirty, oatmeal colored rugs were spread about, covered in cat hair. The place smelled of kitty litter and baking.

"Do sit down, boys. I'll put on the kettle." Glorfindel handed her the cans of soup and cat food, which she took gratefully. She hobbled around a corner and disappeared. He gestured to an old, red couch- once overstuffed, now flat where people had sat.

"What of Elladan?" asked Elrohir, seating himself gingerly.

"The door is unlocked."

Elrohir looked dubious. "He won't be happy..."

Glorfindel shrugged. "That's what he deserves for insulting my food." Mrs. Rosenthal returned, sat across from them in a marmalade-colored easy chair, also very flat. In her arms was a different cat, gray. It regarded them coolly from underneath tufts of fur Elrohir assumed was equivalent to eyebrows.

"I don't recognize this cat," said Glorfindel, leaning toward her and examining it.

"I picked him up last week," Mrs. Rosenthal explained. "Found him on one of my little walks."

"What's his name, then? Have you thought of one yet?"

"No, I thought you might help me."

"Of course! Elliot and I can help. Have you any ideas?"

She nodded, turned the cat in her arms. "I've been calling the poor dear Katze, but I was hoping you could do better." She winked. "You're always so good at it."

Glorfindel laughed bashfully. "I couldn't do it without your marvelous cookies, Mrs. Rosenthal. How many cats do you have now? I've only seen two. Have you locked them all up, or something?"

"No! The radiator is on. They're all basking near it."

Elrohir was beginning to feel like an outsider. He coughed slightly. 

"Elliot," said Glorfindel, taking the cat from Mrs. Rosenthal's arms and depositing it in Elrohir's lap, "what does this cat look like?"

"A...Martin?" he asked weakly.

Mrs. Rosenthal shook her head. "No...he will have a special name. I've never had a gray cat. Perhaps one of your northern names, Gordon?"

"Well..." Glorfindel trailed off thoughtfully. "What about...an Elrohir?"

"Elrohir?" said Elrohir and Mrs. Rosenthal together.

"It's a special name. You know, from where I come from. Scandinavia. Northern Scandinavia," he repeated quickly.

Elrohir raised an eyebrow. "Elrohir? It doesn't sound Germanic..."

Glorfindel shot him an exasperated look. "Those tribes...up north...you know."

"Ah."

The kettle began to whistle, saving Glorfindel from further interrogation. Mrs. Rosenthal made to stand, but Glorfindel stopped her. "I'll get it. I know my way to the kitchen."

He hurried out. Mrs. Rosenthal watched him go, then turned to Elrohir. "Odd young man," she said. "Not many friends, I think. How long have you known him?"

"Oh...a long time. A very long time. We go _far_ back." He looked down to hide a grin, scratched the cat between the ears. It yawned, leaned against him, purring. "I think..." he began. "I think this cat would make a fine Elrohir."

Mrs. Rosenthal smiled, held out her hands. Elrohir gave the cat back, watched it curl up beside her.

"Here's the tea, and some cookies of yours, Mrs. Rosenthal. I hope you don't mind- I want Elliot to taste your wonderful cooking," said Glorfindel, returning, bearing a tray and setting it on a table across from the couch.

"Cookies? When did I...?" She frowned, then shrugged. "Not at all. If you don't have some, I might have to eat them on my own!"

"Any new names?"

"No," said Elrohir, taking a cookie from the tray Glorfindel. "I think we've decided on Elrohir. Right, Mrs. Rosenthal?"

She nodded, reached for a mug. Elrohir bit into his cookie- oatmeal, it seemed. Barring the stray cat hair, it was quite good. He thanked her for it.

They sat in silence, Mrs. Rosenthal stroking her cat happily. Elrohir knew Elladan had come back several minutes earlier. He nudged Glorfindel, who understood.

"Mrs. Rosenthal, we have to go," he said, rising. "I'll stop by next week. Come visit whenever you like. Alyaran loves having company."

"I will. I have an appointment I need to be at on Tuesday, four o-clock; would it be a bother to ask you for a ride?" she asked.

"Not at all. I'll be back on Tuesday, then." He opened the door, hugged her, mindful of the cat. Elrohir followed, but stopped when Mrs. Rosenthal took both his hands in hers.

"Take care of that boy, Elliot," she said. "Make sure he doesn't get himself into trouble."

"I will," he promised.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Rosenthal!" said Glorfindel. She was about to shut the door when a black cat streaked out, between his legs. "_Erestor!_" Glorfindel admonished. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rosenthal." He gathered the ball of jet fur into his arms and handed it to her, laughing.

The door was shut. Elrohir regarded Glorfindel carefully. "Erestor?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "There are startling similarities."

"I can't believe you still associate with them."

"Who?"

"Men."

"Like I said: I have a life here. You haven't had any serious relationships with mortals for Ages, Elrohir, but I have. I don't want to leave them quite yet. I have employees, I have neighbors, I have a _dog, _even."

"Well, she's a nice lady."

"She is."

"Are you ready to face the wrath of my brother?"

"Yes," he said, putting an arm around Elrohir's shoulder. "I am."

_Katze: Cat, German (or at least, that's what I've been told_)

Thanks for reading!

Review Responses:

_Neoinean:_ Thanks! What keeps them there? Valinor is not _nearly_ as exciting, I think. :P Yeah, I don't know what to call Middle Earth either. I've tried to avoid naming it for that reason... /blushes/ hee hee...

_Noldo: _Happy (early) birthday! Here is my present! /hands you the chapter/ For you! :D I'm glad you like the interactions! I spend most of my time on them, so it's really nice to hear that they work! hasa? Yeah...I read a lot of their stories, but I'm not an author there. I don't know if they'd want a modern-day story, and I'm not sure mine would make the cut. I've seen your stuff up, though- congratulations! (I fixed the spelling error! Ah! I'm really embarrassed about that, thanks for pointing it out!)

_Kazbels:_ Agreed! The answer he gives the twins is pretty weak. Don't worry, it's being built upon; I don't want him to explain it all in one go and end up sounding like an encyclopedia or something. Thanks for reviewing "Spring Shower"- I'm not elderly or Eowyn, so I was really hoping to get some feedback. :)

_Erestor:_ All I fed my fish were those little pellets...of gosh-knows-what-but-it-sure-smells...but he's dead, too. So no more Mystery Pellets. :P The conversation worked out okay? Phew. I was worried Glorfindel sounded like he was reciting lines from a cue card or something...I thought of the cat food dilemma, but Glorfindel wouldn't ever let someone live on cat food (unless it was a cat. Right.). So she's just got a lot of cats, strays that she picks up. Only three are featured, though...but I changed the genre! How exciting! It's humor/angst, because I got sick of 'general'... :D

_Aerlalaith: _Yep. I try to think about that. 'See you soon? Read you soon? Huh?' And then my eyes glaze over and cross, so I stop...and then I need a nap. :P Yep, a mutt. I always thought "halfelven" was a little too boring. They're a bit of everything...which can also be really confusing. :D


	8. An Evening with Company

_-Note-_ I have almost absolutely nothing to say. This is the 'almost': I think (or at least, I wish) I'll be able to have the next chapter up by next Saturday. :P

_-Disclaimer-_ I don't own it.

An Evening with Company

Glorfindel leaned against the elevator rail, Elrohir pushed the buttons.

"You were wrong," he said.

"About what?" asked Glorfindel.

"About us not having anything to do with Men."

"Ah?"

"Or at least, you were wrong about me." He faced him, and for the first time that day, he saw real grief. "I left Grandfather's house for a time last year. I went back to Crete. All I had to do was introduce myself as a former student- she was a teacher- and her father told me."

Glofindel cringed.

"She died. Those mortal diseases...she had wed, had children. It isn't fair, Glorfindel. She wasn't even fifty."

"Elrohir..." He knew how to comfort the twins; he had done it often enough. He hugged Elrohir tight. It wasn't until he had done this that he realized how long it had been since he had actually _embraced_ someone, or how he had missed it.

The doors slid open with a light _ding_.

"Don't tell Elladan. He doesn't understand."

"Why didn't you stay with her, Elrohir?"

"Why...? And leave my brother alone? That is not something I would do."

Glorfindel said nothing, led the way back to his door. "He's really in there?" he asked, a hand on the knob.

Elrohir nodded.

"Let's do this, then." He opened the door.

Alyaran greeted them, tail wagging, but Glorfindel brushed him away. "Elladan?" he called.

"Yes."

Ah. The reply sounded slightly disgruntled. Glorfindel walked through the kitchen, into the sitting room. Elladan was thoroughly ensconced in the overstuffed chair. Despite his decidedly unthreatening posture, his expression was one of frustration- childish frustration, Glorfindel thought.

"Sorry?" said Elrohir palms up in a gesture of peace.

"Where were you? I come back, the place is empty!" Alyaran trotted lightly into the room. "Except for the dog."

"Alyaran," Glorfindel corrected. Elladan scowled.

"I don't care."

Alyaran, if it was possible, looked hurt.

"We were visiting my neighbor, Elladan, she was calling for us."

Elrohir looked amused. "If banging on the ceiling is what you identify as _calling_, then you are correct."

"Yes, well she's an elderly lady, and I try to check in with her every week or so."

"She's got cats," Elrohir added helpfully. "You wouldn't _believe_ what their names are..."

Elladan rolled his eyes. "Right. Okay. Glorfindel, are you ready to learn how to cook?"

"No."

Elladan gave him a glare that Glorfindel had fondly dubbed, years ago, the 'look of death'.

"Yes," he amended hastily.

"Good. There's nothing easier to make than spaghetti."

Glorfindel balked.

"_What?_ I have spaghetti dinners in my freezer, I hardly think it necessary-"

Elladan stood, put a hand on his back and pushed him gently into the kitchen.

And so, Glorfindel Goldtress of Gondolin, Imladris, and the Seventh Avenue Apartments learned to cook his first _real_ modern meal- according to Elladan, toast and macaroni did not qualify. Under close supervision, with Elrohir shouting encouragement from the next room and Elladan breathing down his neck, he managed to avoid any serious mishaps.

When it was finished, even Elladan had to agree: the spaghetti had been quite good (if only a little undercooked). They moved into the sitting room, lit a fire in the fireplace. A memory caught Glorfindel at unawares; the Hall of Fire flashed briefly in his mind, and he chuckled. How far they had come since that time...forward, or back?

Glorfindel half expected someone to start up a song, though his mood was not merry enough to join in. As it turned out, there was no music. It was Elladan who spoke.

"We don't know how long we'll be here; a few days at most. We don't want to be a bother, with you at work and everything- is that alright?"

"You will come again, won't you?"

Elladan shrugged. "When we can."

"You know you're always welcome here."

"Perhaps you can visit us next time," suggested Elrohir.

"Where will you go?"

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances. "We're not sure yet. It'll be a few more years before we settle down again," Elladan answered finally.

"I understand. I'll be leaving here in a few years."

"It's hard, isn't it?" mused Elrohir. "Having to move so often, make a new life, leave people behind..." he broke off, studied his knees.

"Aye, but you'll never have to be alone, El," said Elladan, pulling him close. "I don't know how you manage, Glorfindel. You must be frightfully lonely."

Glorfindel said nothing, scratched behind Alyaran's ear. He would not admit it, but he agreed.

Elladan seemed to understand this, checked his watch. "It's getting late. We should go, Elrohir."

"Come by tomorrow, will you?" asked Glorfindel.

"Of course," Elrohir assured him, standing.

Glorfindel nodded, followed them to the door. "Stop by anytime."

"Will it be open?"

Glorfindel grinned, went to the coat rack, pulled a key from the pocket of his green cloak.

"Here," he said, pushing it into Elrohir's hand. "It's my spare, keep it- I don't need it."

"You sure?" asked Elladan skeptically.

"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow."

And then he was alone again. The penthouse seemed to grow without the twins in it, and he suddenly felt very small. Alyaran trotted to his side, nudged his hand with his wet nose.

"There go the two I hold most dear," Glorfindel said to him. Alyaran's tail thumped against the wall. "Yes, yes, I'll feed you. Half a moment."

With Alyaran fed, he showered, dressed, returned to the sitting room. The fire was dying slowly in the grate. He took a book from the opposite wall, a telling of the fall of Númenor, sat down to read in his favorite chair.

He did not read; he watched the firelight flicker on Alyaran's golden fur as he lay in front of the hearth, stretched on a rug. Outside, night had fallen, few stars shone through the orange glare of city lights. In the back of his mind, he began to recognize Elladan and Elrohir's coming for what it was; the beginning of the end.

_(The Seventh Avenue Apartments that Glorfindel lives in are completely fictitious)_

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Kazbels:_ Phew! I was really worried about the Elvish cat names, so I'm glad to hear that you liked them! Glorfindel needed a friend; I think he'd associate better with the elderly rather than younger people.

_Neoinean:_ Thanks! Yep, Northern Scandinavia. You've definitely got it! Blonde, pale, light eyes- it would be an obvious explanation. :P

_Aerlalaith:_ Mrs. Rosenthal won't be going away- don't worry. Glorfindel is much to nice to stop visiting her. You can't wait for more? You have no idea how happy that makes me feel!!

_Erestor:_ That was the longest review I've ever gotten...Thank you! Latin student? Hurrah! I'm only in Latin 2 :P so I haven't been enlightened about this "Xanthus" name. I'd like to use it a little later (he's got to change his name as he moves), if it's alright with you...?


	9. A Real Breakfast

­_-Note-_ I'm very sorry for the delay- it's Sunday, and I update on Saturday. I was gone all day yesterday and was unable to update.

_-Disclaimer-_ I don't own it.

A Real Breakfast

He woke at dawn, as usual. It had stopped raining; the street below was dark and spotted with puddles, but the sky was a weak gray-blue. He made himself a bowl of instant, tasteless oatmeal that stuck to his spoon as if it were cement, ate it reluctantly. He wondered dully if perhaps the joy and warmth of last night had been a trick of a weary mind; if so, why was there a bag of frozen spaghetti sauce in his freezer?

He concluded that Elladan and Elrohir had, in fact, come.

He scraped the remaining oatmeal into the garbage, took Alyaran's leash from a cupboard, put on his cloak.

"Alyaran," he called. "Walk!" He heard a dull _thunk_ from the other room, then the sound of nails on hardwood. "Come!"

Together, they set off down the elevator, through the empty lobby, out of the revolving doors, into the street beyond. There were few cars on the road; the sun had only just risen. He exhaled softly, was surprised to see his breath mist before him. It was still September- barely- , and the days of late, sluggish summer had been and gone. The lines of young trees lining the streets were beginning to take on their fall reds and golden yellows, as he had seen countless times before.

Alyaran began to pick of the pace, trotting lightly. The red leash stretched before him, and he followed.

They wound their way through the streets, passed a small park- no dogs allowed- , wandered past an old, brick school, back to the apartments. With some reluctance, he and Alyaran made their way inside, back to their floor.

He shared the top storey with one other tenant, and as he neared his own door, he thought he smelled cooking. He shrugged, entered.

"At last! Would you like your eggs scrambled, or fried?" called Elladan from the kitchen.

"_What?_"

"Scrambled or fried?" he repeated.

"You're here?"

"Of course we're here!" cried Elrohir, who Glorfindel now saw to be stretched on his couch. "Fried, or scrambled? Or poached, maybe? Hardboiled?"

Glorfindel sighed, hung up his coat. "Whatever's easy...?"

"Fine. Fried, it is."

He took off Alyaran's leash. Freed, he bounded into the kitchen as Glorfindel sank into his chair.

"You know, I already had breakfast," he said petulantly.

"Yes, I saw that gray, lumpy stuff in the garbage. What was it- cream of wheat, or something?" asked Elladan.

"It was _oatmeal_."

"Ah. Not a _real_ breakfast, then."

"You can stop taking care of me, now. I _am_ several thousand years older than both of you," he said grumpily.

"Oh Glorfindel," sighed Elrohir dramatically. "Just let us indulge you, alright?"

Glorfindel grumbled, closed his eyes. "I thought _I_ was supposed to indulge _you_."

"Yes, but now we're grown, and you need some care, too, every so often."

Glorfindel did not answer. There was a soft _hiss_ of something cooking on the stove.

"We're leaving tomorrow or the day after. We haven't decided yet," said Elrohir. "It's time we stop playing around and start working."

"Tell me where you settle down, when you get there," Glorfindel said.

"We will."

A hot plate was pushed into his hands, he opened his eyes. Elladan had given him a large, fried egg and two slices of toast smothered in marmalade.

"Where did you get-"

"We went back to the grocery store. Did you know that it's open twenty-four hours a day?" asked Elrohir, inspecting the food on his own plate.

"Yes, but-"

"Eat."

Glorfindel complied, willingly.

"Where are you going today?" he asked.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances. "We don't know yet. Art museum, perhaps?"

"Have you been there before?"

"No, but I've heard that it's quite good," said Elladan.

"For Men, anyway," Elrohir added.

"Men can be quite good at art, Elrohir. And don't forget that you are part Man, yourself," Glorfindel said. "Anyway, I hear that some paintings are Elven. I know of a few who took on different names and sold their art."

"Really?" asked Elrohir. "Who?"

"Lindir certainly did, before he left."

Elrohir grinned. "Did he? I'm not surprised..."

"What was his name?" asked Elladan curiously, seating himself on Elrohir's shins. Elrohir gave a sharp _yip_, moved over.

Glorfindel shrugged. "He never told me. I think he wanted me to guess, but I don't frequent art museums and didn't know."

"That's a shame. I should like to know," said Elladan. "Do you have a map, by any chance? I don't know where the museum is."

"No, I don't. Your hotel doesn't have any?" Glorfindel asked skeptically.

Elrohir laughed. "He hasn't looked yet!"

Elladan grinned sheepishly. "I forgot until just now, El."

"Well, then. Perhaps it's time to go and see," said Glorfindel.

They finished the meal in silence. Glorfindel stood, collected the empty plates, set them in the sink. He met Elladan and Elrohir at the door.

"Will you be back before you leave? I have work tomorrow."

"Perhaps," said Elrohir, shrugging. "But we'll send word, like we promised."

"Look after yourselves," said Glorfindel. "I'll be here if you need anything."

"We know," said Elladan, embracing him. "We know."

The door closed. He sighed, turned back to the empty apartment. He had dishes to wash, a dog to feed, a life to see to.

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Neoinean:_ Dun dun dun! You'll just have to wait and see! :D /beams/ Well written?! Thank you!!

_Kazbels:_ Glorfindel was in urgent need of a cooking lesson. Now, maybe he can exist on something other than frozen dinners!

_Erestor:_ Thank you for lending 'Xanthus'. We'll be all set if the Romans ever come back! :P That's why I'm also a French student. Sorry to get your hopes up with the whole 'fictitious' thing! I am fairly certain that that will not happen! :P

_Noldo:_ Welcome back! Glad the computer is fixed. Thanks for the review on "Spring Shower" as well. I'll look into HASA- this story shouldn't conclude for another few chapters. I was going to make him visit Celeborn- now I'm not so sure. What do you think? And you've been to Pondicherry?! /melts/ Ah! I've always wanted to go to India and spend a few weeks hiking. I don't know if that would work, though. Maybe in college...hm...


	10. A Letter

_-Note-_ Again, I apologize for the delay. I don't think weekly updates are going to work- it will be catch-as-catch can from here on. Don't worry; I've already got Chapter 11 halfway done. Thank you so much for your patience!

_-Disclaimer-_ Please see Chapter 9.

A Letter

Because he had nothing better to do, he decided it was time he visit the art museum. It was fairly crowded, and he wandered through rooms of tapestries and small, carved figures before he found them, sitting on a wooden bench before a floor-to-ceiling Monet.

Elladan saw him first.

"Is this one of ours?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

He paused. "I can't see Lindir- or anyone else- painting with...dots. It is beautiful, in spite of it."

"Not all fair things are Elven," said Glorfindel, sitting beside him.

"That's true," said Elrohir. "Men are capable of so much beauty. So much darkness."

"We all are."

"Aye."

Silence. A man passed through, carrying a briefcase. He saw them, paused only briefly at the painting, left.

"How long have you been here?"

"A few hours. We were about to go, but we'll stay if you like."

"No," said Glorfindel. "What would an old warrior know about art?"

Elrohir looked skeptic. "Well, you've done a nice job of covering your apartment with it..."

Glorfindel sighed. "I'll stay, you go. Will you be coming to dinner?"

"Maybe."

He shrugged. "You're welcome to stop in."

They stood, he embraced each of them.

"See you later," said Elrohir, picking up his coat.

"Aye, later."

He watched them go, spent the rest of the afternoon moving slowly through the cavernous, marble halls. When he had had his fill of abstract, realism, and sculpture, he left. It was time to go back, and make dinner.

_(l)_

The twins didn't come back that evening.

He didn't admit to himself that he was waiting for them, but it was with reluctance that he locked the door for the night and went to bed. When he woke early the next morning, the apartment was still empty- apart from himself and a sleeping dog.

He sighed, fixed breakfast for himself and Alyaran, skimmed over the morning paper with disinterest. He finished, discarded the remaining oatmeal, set out for the morning walk.

It was a week day; more cars were on the streets, even at this early hour. It was colder than it had been the day before; in spite of himself, he blew at his hands and fastened the buttons on his cloak. He returned to the apartment, traded his old coat for his blazer, girded himself for the office. Briefcase under his arm, he took the elevator to the parking garage, retrieved his car; the valet would not arrive until late morning.

He arrived early enough to avoid the traffic and be one of the first in the building, relaxed until the cubicles began to fill, then began to work.

He signed papers, answered phone calls, read tax reports. By the time he left his office, the paper cut he had gotten halfway through a very dull acount of sales was the only part of his day he remembered clearly. He had wrapped his finger in a tissue before his secretary had arrived at his door, presumably to ask a question. Helen saw the makeshift bandage, blushed furiously and disappeared. Moments later, she returned, bearing a box of Band-Aids.

He took one, feeling foolish, and watched her leave. Had he said too much, last Friday? He wondered, but he did not know. She was the sort who would keep any doubts to herself, and he knew he needn't worry. Such a long conversation- long, in relative terms- had probably frightened her more than anything else.

Of course, by the time he was back in his hallway, the cut had scabbed over, making the purchase of further bandages unnecessary. All the same, he made a mental note to keep a box in his desk.

Alyaran rushed to greet him, threads of slobber flying sideways as he charged around the corner from the kitchen. Glorfindel petted him mildly, hanging his coat on the stand. He made his way- carefully, lest he trip over the madly excited dog- to his overstuffed chair, to rest before he summoned the will to heat up dinner.

There was a sealed envelope laying peacefully on the arm, addressed to him. He didn't notice until later that it was not in Elvish- both he and the twins had become accustomed to other languages less conspicuous.

_Glorfindel,_

_Thank you for allowing us to bother you. By the time you read this, we'll be gone- we knew you'd be at work, and we figured it was best if we didn't interrupt. We'll send word when we get to wherever it is we're going to, you needn't worry._

_We ought to meet more often. At any rate, we all know that the days are few for us now._

_El & El_

Glorfindel sighed, folded the letter. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought. Long goodbyes had never suited him or the twins. It was for the better. For the better.

He put the letter back in its envelope, rose, put it in the cutlery drawer with the twins' phone number. Reaching into the freezer, he took out a jar of leftover sauce, and from the refrigerator, a bowl of noodles, and set about fixing himself a plate of leftover spaghetti. He dropped a forkful of noodles into Alyaran's dish, watched him eat frantically.

"Just you and I, now, pup," he sighed.

It was all for the better, really.

_(l)_

Thank you for reading! Review Responses:

_Dark Borg Drone: _Here's more! :P Thanks for reviewing "One White Tree"! It's very nice to hear from older stories. Thanks again!

_Chronicles Bailey:_ Thanks! I'll look into that! I've been trying to find my friend- who's Romanian- for a few weeks, but it's been difficult, as we have conflicting schedules this year. 'Kitty' is just fine! :D

_Neoinean:_ If only _we_ could have them cooking our breakfasts! :P They're very nice Elves- they look after their Glorfindel just like he looks after them.

_Stuntz:_ Yes, there will be more. I predict another 3-5 chapters, unless some rabid plot bunny attacks me. I'm thinking of taking him to see Celeborn- in another story, set before this. Very, very tentative, though.

_Kazbels:_ I'm afraid I didn't spend too much time at the art museum- I have a hard time imagining Glorfindel there. As for a visit to Celeborn, I was thinking of putting that in another story, taking place before this one- work is really piling up, and I think it would be easier for all of us (especially my sanity) to put it in a separate story. What do you think?

_Noldo:_ I can definitely see that happening. There are many places people would like to visit- but few we'd like to live in. Congratulations on the MPA nomination- "Rantings of a Harassed Advisor" is my favorite! Best of luck to you!

_Saturn's Hikari:_ Marching band! That's great! I myself am an orchestra person- one in school and one extracurricular- I can relate to the time crunch! What instrument(s) do you play? (I'm not telling who the Elven artists are- I ruled out impressionism during the chapter- but it's up to you to decide what paintings and styles look Elvish)


	11. An Errand

_-Note-_ A harrowing, 2-day history test this week will effectively cause my brain cells to faint in exhaustion, but I the next chapter will (or had better be) be posted sometime next week. I am debating making this story longer by taking Glorfindel to visit Celeborn- the alternative, of course, is either putting that plot bunny in its own story (a 'prequel', if you will), or cutting it our entirely. I haven't decided yet, so if you have any insight into this, please let me know! Also: this chapter begins on the same Monday last chapter ended on.

­_-Disclaimer-_ Please see chapter 1. The little boy and his mother are OCs, but the little boy is named for Alexander the Great (I was desperate for a name, and we happened to be studying him in a class of mine :P). Mrs. Rosenthal is also an OC.

An Errand

He opened his refrigerator once more, as if hoping that his groceries would materialize while the door swung.

Unfortunately, it was still empty.

Ah.

Wait- a package of cheese?

Ah. Molding cheese.

He groaned, cursed his lethargy.

A trip to the grocery store was in order.

Alyaran whined, brought his nose against Glorfindel's bare foot. "Why can't _you_ see to the food?" Glorfindel asked.

Alyaran ignored him.

Groaning with unabashed immaturity, he shut the door, slipped on a pair of shoes, took the car keys, and headed out the door.

The supermarket was busy with men and women on their way home from work; even Glorfindel had not had time to change from his customary suit and tie.

He did not fool himself; he made a beeline for the frozen foods aisle, took various boxes from the freezer shelves. He stopped for several cartons of milk, and, as a second thought, a box of noodles.

Ah. That hadn't been so painful.

He made his way to the check-out, chose the shortest line. Before him, a hassled-looking woman was putting her groceries on the cashier's counter.

He felt a poke against his knee, looked immediately downward.

"Hewo." A dark haired boy, no more than three years of age, was gazing intently at him from wide, black eyes. One hand was grasped firmly around the bars of his mother's shopping cart; the other was halfway inside his mouth.

"Hello."

The boy stared.

"What's your name?" Glorfindel asked, feeling self-conscious.

The boy stuffed his hand further into his mouth, in a way that reminded Glorfindel of another little boy- long ago.

"Come, Alexander." His mother- the woman in front of him- turned to him, pushing the cart slowly forward, glancing apologetically at Glorfindel. The boy did not move. Sighing, she scooped him into her arms, held him, pushed the cart away. The little boy looked back at him over her shoulder, stretched out a free hand to him (the other, still firmly lodged between his teeth).

Glorfindel looked away, bought his groceries. It had always been children who noticed him- who saw through the everyday.

He returned to the apartment without incident, restocked his freezer with dinners. He heated up a meal- chicken, with grayish-brown sauce- and ate in silence, Alyaran lying at his feet.

_(l)_

He ducked out of work early the next day, remembering Mrs. Rosenthal's appointment. He made it back to the apartment by 3:30, and they left together for the doctor's office.

It was a twenty-minute drive, long enough for his car to smell of cat, short enough where neither felt pressed to speak. It was, after all, only an annual 'check-up', but she was too elderly to drive- she rarely left her apartment. Her daughter, upon her last visit several weeks ago, had desperately asked for Glorfindel's assistance in transportation, and he had willingly agreed to help.

He saw her into the third floor office, departed for the coffee stand in the hospital's atrium. It was, to his dismay, closed; he spent the next hour-and-a-half sitting on a bench, reading a day-old newspaper, trying to ignore passer-by.

He gave up, returned to the waiting room. Mrs. Rosenthal was there, patiently embroidering some sort of cap.

She looked up, smiled. "I haven't been waiting long, dear. Are you ready?"

He nodded, she folded the green fabric into her purse, and they left. Down the elevator, into the parking garage, onto the streets, congested with rush-hour traffic.

"Has your friend gone already?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "He left yesterday."

"I am always sad to see my children leave, but I know they'll be back."

"I'll see him again."

"Now, where did you say he lives?"

Glorfindel thought a moment. "He hasn't had a real home in many years. He travels."

"Ah. A free spirit, is he? When I was young, I saw a bit of the world as well."

Glorfindel smiled. "Oh, he's seen a bit. More than his fair share, probably."

They said nothing more after that. Glorfindel walked her to her door, she laughed about feeling like a young lady again- being walked home from a date. Elrohir greeted them, rubbing against their legs. He stooped and held him, knowing he would later have to pick clumps of gray hair off his coat.

"Call me if you need anything, Mrs. Rosenthal," he said. "I'm right upstairs."

"I will. You take care."

He set Elrohir on the floor, suddenly missing the _real_ Elrohir.

"Good bye, Gordon."

The door closed. He put his hands in his pocket, stared thoughtfully at the brass knocker.

"Good bye, Mrs. Rosenthal," he said softly.

He returned to his apartment, feeling lonely, and spent the rest of the evening sitting before the fireplace in his overstuffed chair, reading a book- the fall of Númenor. The pages were faded and stiff with age, and he realized that he would have to rewrite it soon.

Then, he thought against it- there were surely copies of it in Aman, and why should he preserve a history that had been forgotten, exchanged for myth? His people had been reduced to fairytale creatures: Dryads, Nymphs, Hyades- shadowy figures in children's stories.

He cast the book aside, dug beneath the cushions for the television remote. He couldn't find it. He sighed, went to the kitchen, took a sheaf of papers from a drawer.

He picked up the book, began to recopy it. Men may have forgotten his world, but he would not.

_(l)_

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Karushna5_: Will the twins be coming back soon? I can't really tell you if they will appear in person or not- but they haven't completely left the story. As for other Elves, most have gone West- some have stayed, living like Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir. Others are living with Celeborn and Thranduil in an undisclosed location. :P

_Dark Borg Drone:_ I agree- reviews are lovely! Unfortunately, I'm not familiar with either "Nightmare on Elm Street" of "Mummies Alive!" I'm very sorry- maybe a future story? I'm afraid I'm not well-versed in fandom.

_Erestor:_ Well, I hope it's not an overdose of poignancy. I wouldn't want readers to be sobbing their eyes out over their keyboards...maybe... :P Well, I'm not saying if they're going to DIE. I didn't think I implied that, but since I did... Nah, I wouldn't kill them off in this story. I still need them. And I don't want to be killed a frenzied twin fan. _I_ am a frenzied (or not-so-frenzied) twin fan.

_Noldo:_ I would be far too embarrassed to ever read such an "adult" story. :) I love your writing- you make the humor/serious transition very smoothly. Exams? I hope they went well! Alyaran isn't a 'Huan' because he's too stupid (in a nice way, though- like my dog) to be one. I always thought Huan should be a bit above the antics of the average golden retriever.

_Kazbels:_ Thank you! I'm not sure where Celeborn would come in either- I've been turning it over all week. Now, I'm a bit more inclined to incorporating it into this story- or not at all. I would like to meet other Elves, so if Celeborn doesn't feature, someone else will. Target dates? Absolutely. I'm a student- deadlines have a profound affect upon me. As a student, I am also a master procrastinator- I set a time period last week, between Saturday and Tuesday, in which to write/finish and post the chapter. This week, the chapter was finished by Saturday- I never had time to post. Rather than setting a single day, it helps for me to set a bracket of days aside in which my story becomes a higher priority. It keeps the pressure on and helps me stay focused. This is the first story that I'm posting as I write- doing so makes it more demanding and adds and motivation. I admire your drive- I can't tell you how many stories of mine, original and fan fiction, have fallen apart for lack of incentive at the 40 page mark. I had planned to post a long story earlier this year. I made sure I would always stay ahead of the posting schedule to allow for some leeway- I think this is the best plan.

_Nerwen:_ Thank you for reviewing! Yes, the twins are off! Reminds me of a race or something... :P Here's another chapter, with another sometime later next week.

_Sangfroid:_ Thank you! I love dogs- I have one- and Alyaran has been the most fun character to write. I'm glad you liked Mrs. Rosenthal- the human interaction is what I spend a lot of time on. A cat named Vaire? That's great! I've always wanted to name a future dog after a Tolkien character. Haven't decided which one, though!

_Neoinean:_ :D It's just our Glorfindel isolating himself again. /sigh/ Poor Glorfindel. At least he has Alyaran! :P

_Stuntz:_ Thanks! The next chapter should appear next week somewhere around Friday.


	12. A Good Day

­_-Note-_ I need to tell you this: November is off-limits. I'm participating in NaNoWriMo (as well as a monster history paper). I don't plan on finishing, but I want to set aside that month solely for my original work. I'm in the process of hording short stories which I'll post during then, but unless I give up, the likelihood of seeing an update is very slim. One month is a long time to be away from a story, but I promise I will come back to it in December. Until November, though, I will post as often as I can. Thank you for your patience and understanding!

-_Disclaimer-_ Please see Chapter 1.

A Good Day

Wednesday evening, and he and Alyaran walked along the deserted beach. It had been cool and windy all day, the waves were choppy and white-capped, the sunbathers and swimmers were all indoors.

He did not leave footprints behind him in the damp sand, but hugged his green cloak tightly to him as he watched Alyaran play with something at the surf line. At first he thought it was a stone, dark lava rock, perhaps, but he moved closer, inspected it.

_It_ was a hermit crab, stuffed tightly into an ancient, barnacled shell. He shooed Alyaran away from it, took the crab in his hands. After several minutes of patient waiting, it stretched out a tentative leg, then another. It walked slowly across his palm, retreated back into the shell when it had reached the edge. Glorfindel looked up, searched the beach. Years earlier, blocks of sandstone had been dropped into the water to create a fishing pier; much of it was now submerged, and all that could be seen was a crumpling pile of rock, smothered in seaweed.

Glorfindel sighed, looked to the creature in his hand, looked back to the rock, back to the shell. He set the hermit crab on the sand, took off his shoes, socks, and cloak, rolled up his khakis. Picked it up, waded out through chilly waves.

He left the hermit crab there, in the shelter the rock provided in the shallow water. He didn't know much about them, but he was relatively sure hermit crabs lived _in_ water. Relatively sure. After all, they lived in shells- which they had probably found _underwater_.

Alyaran barked at him from the shore.

He realized two things, then:

Firstly: he was using the word "water" far too much.

Secondly: He needed a vacation. Badly. If he was spending so much time thinking about hermit crabs, it probably meant he needed to spend some time _not_ thinking.

He ignored the first revelation, almost laughed out loud in joy at the second.

A vacation!

Vacation!

Where in all of Arda was he going to find one of _those_?

He glanced thoughtfully at his feet- he couldn't see them. Ah. He should probably get back to the beach. Right.

On land once more, he sat back on his elbows, waiting for his legs to dry. A vacation...where should he go?

Alyaran jumped into the surf, swam after a stick.

And what would he do with his dog?

Ah.

Hmm.

_Ah ha!_ Of course! He'd even told the twins he'd go.

He stood, whistled to Alyaran, who came running, a ball of wet, sandy fur. He picked up the leash still attached to the dog's collar, equally wet and sandy, carried his shoes and socks in his free hand. Together, they walked back to the apartment, not far away.

He did not deny how odd it felt to be going barefoot in public. The cold concrete sidewalk felt rough against the soles of his feet, gone soft from wearing shoes for so long.

He unlocked his door, wiped his feet on the mat. Alyaran shook himself unceremoniously in the hall, spattering water on the floor. Glorfindel laughed, slid past him.

He was in such a good mood, in fact, that he called off work for the very next day, Thursday, and the day after. Glorfindel had not called off work in...at least half a century. He even summoned up the courage to take the box of noodles from his pantry, boil them up, and make spaghetti.

All in all, it wasn't half bad, for the third time he's made it; not at all undercooked.

When it was done, he fed Alyaran, went to his room, stared into his open closet. For a moment, he stood before the neat piles of shirts, the suits hanging from hangers, staring blankly. Then, he retrieved his suitcase from the corner, and started packing.

Alyaran swaggered in some time later, saw Glorfindel sitting on the bed, carefully tucking away a pair of pants into his case. He leapt up onto the bed beside him and watched.

Alyaran's tale thumped the bedspread, his wide, brown eyes trained on Glorfindel. Glorfindel finished, lay back.

"This was a good day, I think," he said. "But tomorrow will be better."

_(l)_

I apologize for the shortness of this chapter- I've had a crazy week and not much time for writing.

Thanks for reading! Review responses:

_Dark Borg Drone:_ Thanks- here's another chapter, but I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out due to some unusual circumstances next week. :/

_Pacific Drifter_: :D Thanks! There are a lot of modern-day stories out there. I've read some very good ones, but I don't want mine to be the same as everyone else's!

_Kazbels:_ Wouldn't it be wonderful if they really did exist? It's certainly nice to think about. /sigh/ Fictional characters... :P

_Nerwen:_ Thanks! I will do my best to post another chapter next week, but at this point, I'm not sure.

_Noldo: _Exactly! I'd be far too uncomfortable! :) I don't know if that specific little boy will be back, but I hope to include more children. But I do have a dog. I can see a lot of him in Alyaran, but _my_ dog is a bit...less bright that Glorfindel's. I love him very much; he just passed his sixth birthday. :P I encourage you to get a dog as soon as possible!

_Unsung Heroine: _Thanks! I like to admire cars, too, especially old cars. I'm more of a cycling person, myself, though!

_Neoinean:_ Well, Glorfindel is going on his "vacation" now, so we'll see about Celeborn. I was in the backyard last week and had the strangest picture of Celeborn gardening... :P I think I must be going insane. :D


	13. A Vacation

­­_-Note-_ A mild Elvish Advisory up for this chapter and a few following it- Sindarin is put to (hopefully) good use. Translations are provided at the bottom of the page. I'm not learning Elvish, so if you see any errors, please point them out. As for next week's chapter, I don't know when it will be posted; I've got some surgery tomorrow to fix an eye problem and should be a bit out of things for a couple days, thanks to general anesthesia. I have to miss school for it, so I'll be making up tests until the end of time... :P I will do my best to update by next weekend.

_-Disclaimer-_ Please see chapter 1.

A Vacation

He drove all day, all night, and into the next morning. They left the outskirts of the city, traveled through harvested fields, past barns, towns. Cities cast the sky about them into a ghastly orange-brown, blotting out the stars and obscuring the crescent moon.

They reached the forest mid-morning, parked the car at the head of the hiking trail. Carrying his suitcase, he set out on the thin, dirt path.

It wound around ancient trees, saplings split it in two. There were few mosquitoes; he had driven quite a ways north of the apartment in the city, and the land here was already preparing for winter. He waded through fading, ankle-deep leaves, ferns brushed his trousers as he passed. A silver fog clung about the wood, the rushing sound of a fast-moving water reverberated in the mossy stillness.

He saw gray sky through the trees ahead, and suddenly the path veered along the edge of a steep, tree lined slope.

He heard his breath catch painfully in his throat. Hot tears pricked his eyes.

The angle stopped abruptly at the water's edge. A long, smooth lake mirrored the trees and sky, its end obscured in mist.

"_Oh..._" he let his breath out in a whisper.

For a moment, he forgot everything. The job in the city, the neighbor he cared for, the rent he paid, the Elves in Aman.

A bird call sounded across the water, echoed in the valley, brought him back to himself. In the trees nearby, it was answered.

It hurt him to turn, but he did.

He wasn't surprised to find that there was an Elf in the trees behind him. For a moment, they met each other's gaze, then the stranger stepped forward. Alyaran danced excitedly about his knees, tongue hanging, gazing up at the unknown figure, clad in muted greens.

"Mae Govannen, hîr Glorfindel o Imladris, a tîn hu."º he said. He bore a quiver of arrows across his back, held a hunting bow in one hand. His silver-white hair was bound in a tail, and when he turned his head to the side to make another bird call, Glorfindel saw that it was tied with a modern hair band rather than a leather thong.

"Mae Govannen," he replied in kind. "Rúmil?"

The Elf nodded. "Tis I."

"Who are you with? You have learned one of their languages?"

Rúmil grinned, replied in kind, with heavily accented speech. "It is for the best that we learn a Mannish tongue, I think, but I have seldom come from the forest. You have heard Orophin call from across the water, and Egladhon is with us, though you have met him not."

"Why are you here?"

"Lord Celeborn sent us to watch the trails; the sons of Elrond sent word several days ago that you would be coming."

"They did?" Glorfindel smiled, in spite of himself. He looked over his shoulder briefly to see that Alyaran was following; he was.

"Aye. But it is not only for you we are watching."

"Of course. I'm not _that_ important."

"We welcome all of our kin to these woods, but Men come too."

Glorfindel started. "They know about you?"

"No, no. The Old Men who lived here did- we are still in their tales. But now, their sons do not look for us."

"These are public lands, are they not? Men may come as they please."

"Aye, and Lord Thranduil will tell you the rest. I will lead you to him," said Rúmil. He gestured the trail, they proceeded along it in single-file.

"What of Celeborn?" he asked, then amended hastily, "Lord Celeborn?"

"He is not here today. Tomorrow, one of us will show you to his house."

"His house?" Glorfindel asked, frowning.

"Aye, his house. He lives in the country on some days, and here on others. He enjoys the solitude, I think. Since Lady Galadriel left, he has spent more time alone. We say naught of it."

"I understand."

Rúmil turned, smiling. "I know you do. Living out there by yourself...you have puzzled many of us, you and the others who do the same."

"I'm Glorfindel. What can I say?"

Rúmil made a strangled noise that sounded like a laugh he had tried to cover. Glorfindel smiled.

They crossed a creek on a mossy, log bridge. At the other side, Rúmil led him off the track, through the bracken. They continued this way, silently, for several hours before they crossed another stream. Their route led them steadily downhill, away from the trail.

Light appeared through the trees on his right; Rúmil led him toward it. Then, they broke out into the open air, where the sun shone weakly through dissipating mist. They were at the shore of a lake- different from the one he had first seen, which had been smaller in size, with a steeper incline. The far shore was still shrouded in fog, but Glorfindel thought he saw the ghost of a hill. Alyaran approached the water gingerly, did not enter.

Rúmil stepped back from Glorfindel, gestured to the forest. "Sen, i Eryn Medui."

Glorfindel studied the trees carefully. He could see signs of habitation- _flets _meticulously hidden from mortal eyes, the earth cleaned of most brush.

"Rúmil," he asked, "Where are the Elves?"

(l)

Translations:

º_ Mae Govannen, hîr Glorfindel o Imladris, a tîn hu_: Well met, Lord Glorfindel of Rivendell and his dog

º_ Sen, I Eryn Medui_: This, the Last Wood.

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Erestor:_ Thanks! He certainly deserves to be Happy Glorfindel once in a while. :D

_Crystal113:_ I'm glad you reviewed! If you could point me in the direction of the abrupt spots, I'd be glad to check them out. As soon as I post this, I'm off to reread that ch. 11 and check things out. :P I I'm a NaNo newbie as well- you can find me as Andante. Good luck!

_Dark Borg Drone:_ Thanks for understanding! It would be a lot easier if we could just forego all those frivolous things like school and work and just write all day...:D

_Stuntz:_ He definitely needed a vacation! :) I fear I've made him into some sort of work-a-holic!

_Kazbels:_ Beaches are wonderful, wonderful places. Lakes and oceans are just beautiful. And hermit crabs are very cute. ;)

_Clear-as-crystal:_ Thanks! I'm not sure what the twins would say...they'd be happy with him, I think. They're not entirely gone from the story yet, so we may find out.


	14. A Step Inside

-_Note-_ I'm back, sorry for the delay. Everything went well, and I'm fine. Had half a dozen tests to make up once I got back to school, and one of those 4-hour, standardized monsters this morning /flinch/. More Elvish used in this chapter- Sindarin, unless specified. Translations are provided at the end of the page; if you see any errors, please let me know!

Another thing: There is quite a lot of Elvish in this chapter (or at least, I think so). _Would it be easier for you if I translated the Elvish right after it was used (e.g.: at end of paragraph)?_ I don't really want to compromise the flow of the chapter, but I know what a pain it is to ignore/scroll down to the English. :P

_-24 Oct. edit-_ Fixed that mistake...hope it works out now! :P

_-Disclaimer- _Please see chapter 1.

A Step Inside

"Where are...?" Rúmil asked. "Oh! They are underground...in the caves."

"_Caves?"_ Glorfindel cried. If the lack of Elves had startled him, Rúmil's answer had horrified him. "Only Thran-"

Rúmil silenced him with a pointed look.

"We have relocated to the caves in the wake of recent..." he thought for a moment. "appearances of Men close to our area."

"There it is again. What has happened, Rúmil?"

At that moment, Alyaran dashed up from behind Glorfindel. He waded through the deep blanket of leaves, tail wagging, and stopped at the base of a thick oak several yards from the shore.

"What's his name?" asked Rúmil.

"Alyaran. He's four years old."

"He's a good creature. He found Mídhegaer before you did." Rúmil grinned at Glorfindel's puzzled look, let out another short bird call

By then, Glorfindel was not startled to hear a response. A clear voice rang out from the branches in the oak tree, laughing.

"Man nan ha? Im gerin ú-"º

"Tolo dad, Mídhegaer!"º Rúmil called, flashed an exasperated smile at Glorfindel. "Govad-le sen ellon." º

"Man na ha?"º There was a sound of branches moving as if in a soft wind.

"Hîr Glorfindel, o Imladris!"º

There was a barely audible _gasp_ from overhead, then a light _thud_ as the other Elf leapt out of the tree, narrowly missing Alyaran.

He was slender, like Rúmil, but slightly shorter, with darker features. He wore varying shades of brown; the better to blend in with the trees, Glorfindel supposed.

"Hîr-nin,"º he said, sweeping into a low bow as Alyaran sniffed curiously at his cloak. Glorfindel raised his eyebrows at Rúmil.

"Mae govannen, Midhegaer."º

"Mae govannen, hîr Glorfindel."º

"Lord, you have tamed the untamable," laughed Rúmil. Mídhegaer looked at him tentatively.

"Eria-le, ù-baur an cû."º

"He will not understand you if you speak any Mannish. He has lived here all his life and sees visitors seldom; you are quite an oddity to him. Not to mention that you happen to be _the_ Glorfindel. The hero most Elflings worship."

Glorfindel frowned. "He's lived here all his life?"

"Aye."

"But-"

"He is the youngest Elf in the forest, and loved by all. Mídhegaer was the first Elfling we had had in many _yéni_º, and indeed, there have been none since."

"I did not know there were any children left."

"We live on still, in these woods."

"Albeit sometimes in caves?"

"Yes, sometimes in caves." Rúmil whispered softly to Mídhegaer, who had been staring avidly at Glorfindel. He nodded, slipped into the trees with a flash of russet.

"Where have you sent him?"

"Ahead, to tell of your arrival."

"There are more Elves in the trees, are there not?"

"At this time, I know of...perhaps a dozen within a league of here," replied Rúmil, gesturing for Glorfindel to follow.

"Do you command them?"

"No. My brother does."

"Ah."

They reentered the woods, but it was not long before they came to a wall of gray rock, taller than an Elf. Glorfindel saw a narrow, winding fissure.

"Is _that_ it? Don't Men know about it?" he asked.

"Yes, and yes. But the rock is unstable, and they dare not enter."

Glorfindel gaped at him. "Unstable, yet you _live_ in there?"

"The rock is only unstable when it needs to be. That is, when _we _need it to be."

"You fool them?"

"Easily."

Glorfindel shook his head, chuckled. "You are all far too clever for your own good. But how can you hunt?"

Rumil grinned, produced a card from a pouch on his belt. "With this."

Glorfindel approached him, studied it; a photograph, date of birth, name, address... "A hunting license?"

"Aye."

"Do you not need personal information to obtain one?"

Rúmil laughed. "Of course not; we are _far _too clever for our own good! You cannot seriously think this is _legitimate_!

"You _forged_ it?!"

"Certainly."

"What if you-"

"My lord, we know how to look after ourselves. You needn't worry."

Glorfindel sighed. "I suppose..."

"Good." Rúmil pointed into the darkness. "After you."

_(l)_

Thanks for reading!

Note: I've never seen a hunting license before, so don't take my word for it! :D At least one more update before November first. I have an English paper that needs research/writing and a history paper that needs...everything. Count on seeing one more chapter; after that, I'm not sure. I want to get him to Celeborn before November.

_Translations:_

º_"Man nan ha? Im gerin ú-": Who is it?_ _I've never-_

º_"Tolo dad, Midhegaer!":Come down, Midhegaer!_

º_"Govad-le sen ellon": Meet this visitor! _lit. You meet this visitor

º_"Man nan ha?": Who is it? _

º_"Hîr Glorfindel, o Imladris!" Lord Glorfindel of Imladris_

º_"Mae govannen, Midhegaer": Well met, Midhegaer._

º_"Mae govannen, h_îr_ Glorfindel: Well met, Lord Glorfindel_

º_"Eria-le,_ _ù-baur an c": Rise, no need to bow _lit. You rise, no need to bow

º _yéni: (Quenya) period of 122 solar years_

Review Responses:

_Stuntz:_ They're here, don't worry! All safe! :P And there will be more in the next chapter.

_Kathira:_ Thank you! That was the ultimate compliment, right there- you made my week!

_Crystal113:_ I answered the hunting question for you. I've been on hiking/biking/canoeing trips before and have stayed in national parks (America and Canada only, though)- some allow hunting or fishing with a license. In Canada, I know, one can obtain a license and fish or hunt moose. I hope this helped!

_Dark Borg Drone:_ But the printer still had enough paper to print you work, I hope? It would be horrible if it didn't...

_Aranel3:_ Thank you for both reviews and your comments! Glorfindel is very enjoyable to write- I'll miss him when this is done! :D

_Kazbels:_ Thanks for the compliment and the 'good luck'- I really appreciate it. It went very well, and I'm feeling much better.

_Noldo:_ Thanks! Everything turned out well, and I'm doing fine. About NaNo, I understand completely. This year and the next essentially decide where I'm going for uni, what scholarships I get, etc...it's nerve-wracking for everyone, but in the end, the work is all worth it (I hope!). I don't plan on finishing NaNo- I just want to make a dent in my original work. I need motivation and pressure to work, and I hope NaNo will give me that. I'm really enjoying your Feanor and Nerdanel story- it's much too good to end this soon! :P


	15. An Elvenking

­­_-Note-_ Thanks to everyone who responded to my question- translations will stay at the bottom of the page. This is the first time I've really had to use Elvish- your input helped me greatly! More Sindarin in this chapter, if you see any errors, please let me know!

­_-Disclaimer- _Please see chapter 1.

-_edit- Oct 30- Elvish fixed!_

An Elvenking

The torch-lit passage was narrow and dank, twisting and winding past outcroppings of bare rock. A greater light appeared from around a bend, silvery voices echoed softly off the walls; in a moment, he had turned the corner.

The stone hall was hung with Elven tapestries; Elves sat in chairs or lay back on the polished stone floor. Quartz-flecked columns were carved in Elven fashion; trees, glittering with dewy jewels and bird eyes.

It was, of course, paltry in comparison to the caverns of Nargothrond, and, he guessed, Menegroth. These halls were a place for protection and hiding; improved and chipped at over long millennia.

"My lord," said Rúmil. Glorfindel started. The Elves surveyed him curiously, some waved. He recognized several.

"Yes?"

"Lord Thranduil wishes to greet you."

Glorfindel sighed, took stock of himself. He had not slept in over day, nor had he changed his clothes; his suitcase was beginning to drag, and he knew Alyaran was hungry.

"Can I not make myself presentable, first?" he asked.

Rúmil nodded. "I will show you to the guest quarters.

"My thanks."

Rúmil led him out of the main hall, down a sloping path. Carved, wooden doors appeared every few hundred paces- living quarters, he supposed.

His room was at the end of the corridor. It was small, comfortable, and unsettlingly windowless, though it brightened after Rúmil hung a lantern from the ceiling and placed another on a table. The walls were smooth and painted. Above the bed, a fresco depicted the forging of Narsil.

"You all seem to have been busy," he remarked, turning his attention to another painting.

Rúmil laughed. "We've had a bit of spare time."

"I can see that," he answered dryly.

"I will call for bath water," said Rúmil, still smiling. Glorfindel thanked him, and he left, shutting the door behind him.

It wasn't until after Rúmil had gone that Glorfindel realized they had not been speaking in Elvish.

He frowned. Was he really so far removed from his kin?

Alyaran sniffed at the foreign room, his tail thumping against the elegantly carved table, a relic from the Third Age. It, and most of the furniture in the room, had been carefully preserved, even as an item in a museum would be cared for. The table rattled, the lantern on it flickered.

Glorfindel sighed. Had he intentionally isolated himself? Had he grown so accustomed to the ways of Men?

Alyaran turned to him, bumped his head on the bed frame.

Glorfindel supposed he had done all of those things.

Someone knocked on the door. He opened it. Two Elves, both Sindar, stood before him, a man and a woman, bearing large cauldrons of water.

"Hîr Glorfindel?"º asked the woman.

"Mae govannen, minno," he said hastily, moving aside. They carried the basins through his room, stopped at another door. He rushed to open it. They entered the next room, poured the water into a stone tub in a raised platform against the far wall. When they had done, he thanked and dismissed them.

"Hîr nin, nin iston?" asked the elleth. Glorfindel felt a pang of guilt.

"Iston nîf lîn," he replied hesitantly. She smiled.

"Al-gosta le. Im Idhreneth, o Imladris," she said.

Glorfindel grinned, thought he remembered her. "Hannan le."

She nodded, bowed quickly, and they left.

_(l)_

He bathed, fed his dog with the food he had packed. A set of clothes had been laid out on his bed for him; a tunic and trousers of soft, silvery-green material. He considered it for a moment, turned to his open suitcase, then back to the Elven garb.

He sighed, took a last look at his suitcase, and dressed himself in the clothes he had been given. When he had finished, he braided his hair in front of the washroom mirror (something that took longer than it should have- he had not worn braids for many years). His ears felt strangely exposed; he had grown used to keeping his hair down and over them. Shrugging it off, he left his room.

By now, he was sure the evening meal was about to start. He made his way to the main hall, where the long tables were crowded and full of food. At the far side, opposite the outside entrance, he made out Lord Thranduil in embroidered green robes sitting at the center of a table, flanked by a son on one side and an empty place at the other.

Glorfindel stifled a groan.

The son (he did not know which, for all of Thranduil's sons were similar of face) met Glorfindel's gaze, whispered sideways to his father. Thranduil looked up from his plate.

Ah.

_(l)_

After dinner and small talk, Glorfindel was happy to leave. He had become acclimatized to the fast-paced life in the city, and he found himself feeling more out of place in Thranduil's halls than he had in his apartment.

He was reading in his room when a messenger knocked on his door; he was to meet Lord Thranduil in his study. He followed the Elf through the labyrinthine corridors until they reached a less crowded wing of the caverns; finally, they stopped at an elaborate set of oak doors. The messenger knocked.

"Minno,"º called a voice from inside. They entered, the messenger excused himself.

Lord Thranduil was sitting behind a large, formidable desk. Behind him was a tapestry of a wood- Doriath, Glorfindel thought. Shelves carved into the stone were lined with books, statuettes, and several figures that looked distinctly like children's toys. Glorfindel smiled in spite of himself; one of Thranduil's two sons had remained in Arda, and he imagined that fond memories accompanied each plaything.

"Mae govannen, hîr Thranduil," said Glorfindel, bowing. Thranduil rose from behind his desk; he had taken off his customary circlet, and still wore the forest green robes he had had on at dinner.

To Glorfindel's surprise, Thranduil did not respond in Elvish. His command of the Mannish tongue was obviously less than superb; it was apparent, however, that he had been learning.

"Welcome, Lord Glorfindel, and rise. It has been long years since last we met."

Glorfindel's smile widened. "You speak their language well, lord."

Thranduil grimaced. "It is not as graceful as our own. But you seem to like it well enough."

Glorfindel ignored the hidden barb. "It is very kind of you to welcome me here. I am grateful."

"It is naught; we accept all of our kin," he replied smoothly. Thranduil seated himself once more, gestured to Glorfindel to do the same. He pulled up a comfortable, wooden chair.

"I'm sure you do not invite all visitors into your study."

"You are right. Rúmil has delegated to me the task of explaining recent events."

"I had hoped I would hear."

"Listen, then. A fortnight past, Men came close to our settlement. It rarely happens, but we are prepared for it nonetheless." He paused, as if to search for an appropriate word. "They...harmed several of our trees. Some of our oldest now lie dying."

Glorfindel closed his eyes. "I am sorry."

"As are we. To so prematurely lose trees _we planted_..."

It occurred to Glorfindel that Thranduil was looking for something. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Lord, I cannot apologize on behalf of these Men."

"You live with them." Accusingly.

Ah.

Was he now some kind of convert? He did not think so. He had not traded his Elvish identity for a Mannish one. He lived and worked with Men, but he could not be blamed of _being_ one; did Thranduil think he had forsaken his people? Was Thranduil _right? _Glorfindel got defensive.

"Did you call me here to berate me, lord? I cannot apologize for them, but I have given Men enough of a chance to know that most are unlike those that have violated your woods," he said angrily. "You will only have to tolerate me for two more days; I beg you to let me stay here in peace."

When he opened his eyes, Thranduil was staring intently at him. Millennia of watching the land of his youth decline into waste and being made an outcast by the Atani had tempered the fierce pride his eyes had once held; he seemed to frown out of habit now, the days of joy and celebration long past. Glorfindel felt a sudden spasm of regret.

"I did not call you here to...berate you. I have told you what you wanted to know. You will doubtless see these injuries done to us."

"I shall, but if it is a healer you seek, I can tell you that he passed over the sea long ago."

"You need not be so bitter."

There was silence.

"I meant no disrespect," Glorfindel began hestitantly.

"I am not offended. I have known you long enough. I trust you will be asking after Celeborn, now?"

"Yes, if I may."

"He is not here. I will give you directions to his home; doubtless, you will want to see him before you leave."

He opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a map. He handed it to Glorfindel.

"Take this; you have better need of it than I."

_(l)_

Thanks for reading!

_Translations:_

º_ "Hîr Glorfindel?": Lord Glorfindel?_

º_ "Mae govannen, minno,": Well met, come inside._

º_ "Hîr nin,nin iston?": My lord, do you remember me? _lit. do you know me?

º _elleth: Elf, female_

º _"Iston nîf lîn,": I recognize you _lit. I know your face

º_ "Al gosta-le. Im Idhreneth, o Imladris,": Worry not. _lit. fear not_ I am Idhreneth, of Imladris._

º _"Hannan le": Thank you._

º _"Minno!,": Enter!_

º _"Mae govannen, hîr Thranduil,": Well met, Lord Thranduil._

Review Responses:

_Stuntz: _Hee hee...this chapter is what happens next! :D And next chapter, he takes a trip to see Celeborn.

_Dark Borg Drone:_ Ah! I'm so sorry! Printers can be terrible, sometimes. I hope everything works out for you!

_Kazbels:_ Thanks for the answer! Your response was a great relief! :)

_Crystal113:_ /flinch/ Ah! You're right! That's a mistake. I'm going to run off and fix that as soon as I'm done here. Thank you!

_Cat:_ Thanks for the input! I'm a stranger to Elvish, obviously. :P I'm glad you like Alyaran- I think he's become my favorite character. :D

_Aranel3:_ Well, life goes on, even if you _are_ hiding away from pesky Men... :P Children and young adults are my favorite people to write.

_Erestor:_ Ooooh! I didn't think about him squishing Alyaran! That would be horrible! And don't worry, I'm not offended. This story certainly doesn't have much of a nail-biting, edge-of-the-chair climax, but I do have a Plan. We've made it over the hill, chapterwise, and I'd estimate no more than 5-7 chapters left. :D I'm excited about my ending!


	16. A Garden

_-Note-_ Well...I guess this is the last chapter until NaNo ends. Thank you, everyone, for reading, reviewing, and answering my questions. I'll see you all in December!

_-Disclaimer-_ Please see Chapter 1. No Elvish in this chapter, but a few plant names. I'm no expert, so they're all ones I'm familiar with. ;) If you don't know them, don't worry about it. :P

A Garden

He hiked back to his car, Alyaran in tow, the next morning. Using Thranduil's map, he drove through the outskirts of the forest, past rolling hills and fields recently harvested.

The house was wedged on a small piece of property between two large farms. It was simple; white clapboard, cheerful blue shutters, window boxes filled with late-blooming geraniums. An apple tree grew next to one of the downstairs windows; evidently, the apples had all been picked.

He wondered how an Elf could live in such a place.

He walked up the path to the door, stepping over sprawled alyssum growing in the flagstone cracks. There was no bell. He knocked.

No answer.

He would not give up so easily. He went around back, Alyaran jaunting ahead.

There was a garden; mums, rhododendron, rose bushes, clematis growing up the side of the house. Tomatoes tied to stakes next to green beans. A few rows of wilting lettuce. The skeletons of sunflowers lay strewn next to several small pumpkins.

And there, hunched over a plant with a pair of scissors, was Celeborn.

He wore faded jeans and a dirty Elven tunic. As Glorfindel approached, he stood, wiped a smudge of soil from his nose.

"Hello," he said. "I've been expecting you."

Glorfindel gaped politely.

"Nice to see you," Celeborn added, smiling. He brushed a stray lock of silver hair behind his ear; it had escaped the tail he had pulled it back in.

"Hello," Glorfindel finally managed, staring at the scissors.

"Hello." Celeborn followed Glorfindel's gaze. "I am cutting my flowers and tomatoes. There will be frost before the week is out."

Glorfindel nodded. "Sorry, I didn't expect-"

"No, I mean that you took your time in coming to us."

"Oh."

Glorfindel felt very foolish. He couldn't help it. Few besides Celeborn could have this affect upon him; he was so wise...so old...so _different._ He was, after all, wed to Galadriel. She had taken ship, though, many years before, and Celeborn had gone on living in Arda. He had settled ruled in East Lórien before he moved to Imladris. He had dwelt there with his grandsons for millennia.

That, too, had been many years earlier. Glorfindel sighed.

"But you probably weren't expecting to see me," he smiled, "like this. I assure you, I maintain my sanity yet." He stooped to collect a small pile of mums.

"You've confused them all, you know," said Glorfindel.

"I know, but I also know you understand," he replied, standing, his arms full of white and purple blooms.

Glorfindel paused. He looked at the garden once more, a carefully tended disarray of strange plants. He understood. How Celeborn- or anyone- could stay in the forest and _not_ sail?

"Yes, I do."

Celeborn smiled. "Will you come inside?" he asked. "I have tea."

"Of course," said Glorfindel. "And Alyaran?"

"Who?"

"My dog."

"He can come in. I have two cats. They might be indoors; I have not seen them in the garden. Is he friendly?"

"Oh, yes. What are their names?" asked Glorfindel.

Celeborn laughed. "My grandsons named them. The cats are Elladan and Elrohir."

Glorfindel grinned.

_(l)_

They drank their tea in the tiny, linoleum-floored kitchen. Celeborn put a tin of biscuits on the table, helped himself to them. He put the flowers, white and purple, into a star-flecked vase.

"How long have you been here?" asked Glorfindel, surveying the sagging wooden cabinets.

"A few years, I think. I visit the forest often."

"Ah. You know of the trespassing, then?"

"Aye."

Silence. Celeborn broke it. "And you? How long will you stay?"

Glorfindel realized the question could have more than one answer; he took the easiest one.

"I drive back Saturday afternoon. I should be back in time for work on Monday."

Celeborn watched him carefully. Glorfindel did not fidget; he was a distinguished Elf. Distinguished Elves did not squirm, even in the presence of Lord Celeborn.

"What day is it?" Celeborn asked suddenly.

"What?" Glorfindel asked reflexively. He answered before Celeborn could speak again. "Today is November second, Friday."

Something flashed behind Celeborn's gray eyes; Glorfindel did not know what.

"You ought to be getting back, then. You'll find more peace in the wood," he said, collecting their empty teacups.

"Right."

Glorfindel whistled sharply to Alyaran, who had been lying at Celeborn's feet. He opened the rickety screen door, stepped out. There was a small, whitewashed porch, stairs leading into the garden. It creaked as Alyaran walked across it; Glorfindel's steps made no sound.

"Glorfindel?" Celeborn called from inside. There was a clink of porcelain as the cups were placed in the sink.

"Yes?"

"If you should go before I, send my greetings to my wife."

_(l)_

Thanks for reading! Review responses:

_Neoinean:_ Definitely! They'd have left a long time ago, if they knew what was good for them! :D

_Crystal113:_ Thanks for all the tips! I think you're right!

_Karushna5:_ Mm... things will get better for them, I think.

_Dark Borg Drone:_ /flinch/ What a pain! Has your printer gotten better yet?!

_Stuntz:_ :D Hooray for Elves! The next chapter won't be for a while- I hope that's alright!

_Noldo:_ Whoa...long review! Thanks for the Elvish! I haven't been able to find any thorough online sources- your review really helped. Do they really make Elvish dictionaries? I didn't know that... :P


	17. A Home, of Sorts

_-Note-_ A lot of things have happened since I last updated, and most of them have been bad…I did finish NaNoWriMo, with a word count of 50630. I really loved it, and would recommend itto anyone who has had a plot rolling around in their head and no motivation to write it down. :D

Weekly updates are currently out of the question...sorry!

_-Disclaimer- _please see chapter 1.

A Home, of Sorts

When he returned to his room in the caves, he saw that someone had been in to tidy it up. There was a vase of ferns standing on his table, and an extra lantern had been lit to keep out the (rather stygian) darkness. He fed Alyaran, bathed, and braced himself for another dinner in the company of his own kind.

In the end, though, the meal wasn't so horrible. There was wine and venison, and the last of the autumn apples had been baked into pies and pressed into ciders. He sat at Thranduil's table, making small talk with his sons and advisors, sharing news from the outside world. It was not so difficult, once he became used to it, and it was rather like slipping on an old pair of shoes; strange at first, then more comfortable as the day progressed.

Nevertheless, he heaved a silent sigh of relief as he watched Rúmil's back disappear into the woods as he was left at the trailhead.

"Alyaran," he said quietly, after he was sure that the other Elf had gone out of ear-shot, "Let's go home."

And it was a home, of sorts, he thought as he entered the citytwo days later. The apartment was certainly not Imladris, but it would do for a time.

­Sighing heavily, he laid his bag on the floor outside his door, drew the key from his pocket. Alyaran pranced excitedly next to him.

He got the door open, hung up his green cloak, and headed straight for his bedroom. He swung the suitcase onto his mattress, watching briefly to make sure it did not slide off the edge of his bed.

"Alyaran?" he called. "Are you hungry?"

Of course, there was no answer. He smiled. He had grown entirely too used to having people to speak with. He laughed quietly at himself, went contentedly to the kitchen, pulled out a frozen dinner from his freezer. He heated it up in the microwave, fed a very happy Alyaran.

The microwave _dinged_ loudly- annoyingly- and he pulled the tray out, setting it down on the counter before it burned him. He pulled up a chair and ate before the television set, catching up on the news.

He discovered he hadn't really missed much.

Well, he was quick to correct, he _had_ missed things, just not the news anchor spouting out frivolous tales of stolen garden plants and local Boy Scout troops.

He wondered why he had to leave something to find out how much he loved it.

"Alyaran?" he asked suddenly, ignoring the nagging voice in his head that reminded him that he was speaking to his _dog_, "You stay here a moment. I've got to say hello to a neighbor."

Alyaran did not reply, but Glorfindel finished his dinner, discarded the tray, and left. When he arrived at Mrs. Rosenthal's door, it was unlocked. He opened it tentatively, calling her name.

He heard a bustle of skirts, a wooden _clunk_ as her cane hit the floor with every step. Mrs. Rosenthal appeared before him, grinning broadly.

"Gordon!" she cried. "How nice to see you! Come in, come in!" she opened the door wider and hurried him inside, pecking him on the cheek briefly.

"Hello, Mrs. Rosenthal," he said, entering. She sat on the couch, gestured for him to join her.

"How have you been, Gordon, dear?" she asked. "I haven't heard _anything_ from your apartment for days."

"Oh," he said, lifting his arms from his lap to make room for a marmalade cat.

"What's this one called?" he asked. "I've seen her here before, but…"

"This is Miss Marmalade," said Mrs. Rosenthal, smiling, "Marm, for short."

Glorfindel smiled petted her. "I've been to see a few old friends," he said, remembering her earlier question. "I just got back."

"Well, did you have a good time, dear?" she asked pleasantly. "Was that young man- Elliot, I think? Was he there?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Just some people I've known for a very long time."

"Ah."

They sat in silence. Mrs. Rosenthal seemed to remember something.

"Gordon, you must meet my granddaughter!" she said suddenly.

"Your-"

"She's moved in for a while. She got a job in the city." Mrs. Rosenthal turned away from him, and called loudly, "Ruthie! Ruthie, dear! Come and meet your neighbor!"

"I'll be right there!" came the muffled reply. A door opened and shut, a petite young woman rounded the corner, brushing short, dark hair behind her ear. She smiled upon seeing him. He and Mrs. Rosenthal stood.

"Ruthie, this is our upstairs neighbor, the one I was telling you about," said Mrs. Rosenthal, putting Ruthie's hand in Glorfindel's. "And Gordon, this is my granddaughter, Ruthie."

"Nice to meet you, Gordon," she said, and added quietly, "You can call me Ruth."

He nodded, seeing that Mrs. Rosenthal had not heard. "Nice to meet you, Ruth," he said.

"Shall I get some tea?" Mrs. Rosenthal asked. They both declined the offer, and sat awkwardly for a few minutes.

Glorfindel checked his watch.

"Mrs. Rosenthal," he said, "I have to be going now- I have work in the morning, and I have yet to unpack."

He stood and helped her up.

"Then go, young man!" she said waving her arm in the direction of the door. "You mustn't leave your clothes in a suitcase for too long, or else they'll wrinkle!"

He nodded and laughed. "I'll come by later in the week," he said, opening the door. "Good bye, Mrs. Rosenthal, Ruth.'

Ruth waved at him from the couch, smiling. Mrs. Rosenthal gave him another kiss on the cheek, and he left.

Glorfindel rode the elevator back up to his apartment, let himself inside. He turned on the lights, unpacked his things, spent the evening petting Alyaran and staring into the fire.

It was good to be back.

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Kazbels: _I didn't, either, but then I went in out into my own garden, and decided it would be a nice place to find an Elf. ;)

_Erestor:_ Thanks! The prospect of Thranduil was kind of frightening- I didn't want him to be Evil!Thranduil. I'm glad you liked him!

_Crystal113:_ Thanks for the websites! And congratulations, NOVELIST! :P It was really nice talking with you, especially with the funeral and everything going on- it really helped. I hope we can keep this up during the off-NaNo season…? Are you participating next year? I've got a sequel to write now, so I think I will be. :D We're novelists!

_Saturn's Hikari:_ Eh, don't worry! And don't worry about Mrs. Rosenthal, either- lookit, I gave her a granddaughter so she wouldn't be lonely! :)

_Stuntz:_ Thanks! Hopefully, this chapter is good too- I confess, I have to get used to this style of writing again, as it's different from the one I usually use.

_Melannen Halfelven: _The twins! Hooray for the twins! Of _course_ there's more story- not a lot more, but _some. _:D

_Noldo:_ Oooh, thanks for pointing that out! I changed it! The date is Nov. 2 for no good reason- I just picked a day. It's Friday by coincidence, since he left on Wednesday and the drive took him 2 days, but it certainly is a very nice coincidence! And yes, you're right about clematis. ;)

_ShadowlessPhantom:_ No Haldir, sorry. I think Orophin gets an honorable mention. And Haldir is very much alive!


	18. A Gift

_-Note- _I should probably tell you all this: Elves live together not only in Thranduil's forest, but also with Cirdan, who has taken up residence somewhere on a coast. I've always thought that Cirdan was extremely powerful, so I'm going to say that it is partially his power that keeps his settlement hidden- it is also well placed, away from human civilization.

I won't be home much for the next few days- lots of concerts and rehearsals for various orchestras, so I won't have any time to update. I promise you, I'll have a chapter up by the 24th. Because Hobbits give presents on their birthdays, and I love Hobbits!

:D

_-Disclaimer- _Please see chapter 1.

A Gift

He went back to work early the next morning. He had left his Vice President in charge, and Glorfindel was happy to see that the mountain of paperwork he expected on his own desk seemed more like a small hill.

He had settled in comfortably by the time his employees arrived. He watched through the glass of his office as computer screens glowed to life, desk lamps were switched on, coats hung over cubicle partitions.

He turned back to his work. The morning passed in a flurry of papers, coffee, and phone calls. His vice president arrived, bearing a ham-and-cheese sandwich.

"Brought you this," he said, setting it on his desk. "You never take off for lunch."

Glorfindel shrugged. "How did it go?"

"Fine, the Man said, pulling up a chair in front of Glorfindel's desk. "We can look after ourselves, you know." He grinned, pushed the sandwich forward.

"I know," Glorfindel replied. And he did. The Man in front of him- David Walker- was the most capable of his employees (which, he supposed, was why he was his second-in-command). He was older, with peppery hair and thick glasses.

He knew the Man wondered about Glorfindel's aging- or lack thereof, but he never asked, nor did he seem to care.

They discussed what had happened while Glorfindel had been gone (not much had, it seemed). David left, Glorfindel ate his sandwich, prepared for tomorrow's meetings, and caught up on business news.

It started to snow. The glass façade of the high rise office building across the street faded away in a blur of white, street lamps cast an eerie, orange glow in the disappearing daylight. The radiator in his office began to clunk loudly.

One by one, the computer screens flicked off, the hum of chatter died down, the cubicles grew dark. He welcomed the solitary feeling of the place after hours.

He picked up his coat, turned off his own computer, shut off the lights, locked the door behind him. Outside the window, the snow blew sideways, white flurries against gray-black sky.

(l)

The month passed like that, quiet and unremarkable. Holiday displays appeared in storefronts, advertising sales, new styles, and _must-haves_. Midwinter that year was on a Saturday, and he spent the day in his apartment.

It was a dismal feast, by all accounts. He had never grasped the concept of modern cooking, but he attempted to make spaghetti, as Elladan had taught him. His finished product was more like noodles with burnt, rubbery sauce.

Not even Alyaran wanted to eat it.

Glorfindel watched with a mixture of amusement and despair as his dog slinked up to his dish, sniffed gingerly, licked the "spaghetti", and walked away.

And so, he ended up throwing the whole meal into the garbage and ordering Chinese.

The delivery man arrived at his door half an hour later. Glorfindel thanked him, tipped him, and sent him on his way. As he turned back to his apartment, his eyes caught on a package outside his door. Curious, he brought it in, narrowly missing knocking over his coat rack, holding his ratty old cloak and his business jacket.

He placed the box across from him on the table as he ate, and when he had finished and put the leftovers in the refrigerator, he took out a pair of scissors and cut away the packaging tape.

It was addressed to him, Gordon Findel, and postmarked _Fauske, Norway_.º There was no return address, no name of the sender.

He opened it, saw a swath of green fabric. Holding his breath, he unfolded the brand new, grasshopper green cloak. Tears pricked at his eyes. A note fell out of the sleeve.

_Love,_

_El & El_

He let out a long breath, put it on. It fit perfectly.

"_Elrohir?" asked Elrohir. "It doesn't sound Germanic…"_

"_It is. Those tribes…up north."º_

"_Ah."_

So they had gone north. To Scandinavia. And if Glorfindel knew the twins well (and he did), the choice of location had been one large joke.

He pulled the cloak closer about him. He did not know whether he should laugh or cry; in the end, he did neither.

(l)

This was short, I know. Next chapter looks to be quite a bit longer.

º Fauske is a city in northern Norway.

º The section in italics is taken from "A Neighbor". I had to adjust it a bit so we'd know Elrohir was a speaker.

Thanks for reading! Review responses:

_Kazbels:_ Thanks! That's the nicest thing I've heard for a long time.

_Stuntz: _It gets confusing, doesn't it? You have to think differently…it feels weird, at first!

_Crystal113:_ Of course- there is absolutely nothing wrong with talking to one's dog (and if there is, I'm guilty of it a million times over). I fixed the little discrepancy- thanks!

_Melannen Halfelven:_ What a strange coincidence! Elliot was the only 'E' name I could think of, so that's why I chose it. :P

_Starlit Jewel:_ Thank you!

_Ithiliel Silverquill:_ I'm glad you approve of Ruth. Mrs. Rosenthal can't live alone forever!

_Osaya:_ Thanks! I'll try to update soon!

_Vana Tuivana: _Thank you! I like a laid back story…it's very relaxing to write! As for Ruth, she appeared quite by accident as I was writing. Don't worry, she'll be back!


	19. An Incident

_-Note-_ Today is my birthday, so here is a birthday post for you all. I hope you enjoy it!

_-Disclaimer-_ Please see chapter 1.

An "Incident"

Days went by, and weeks. Winter had come in full force, piling mountains of snow in the alleyways and turning the city parks into playgrounds for sledding children, bundled tightly against the cold. He saw them everywhere, skating on the ponds or in the alleys before the salt trucks came.

Sunday. He walked Alyaran in the early afternoon, before the sun set. He had had a sandwich for lunch, thrown on his heavy winter coat, and they had left. The sidewalks were clear of snow, and he and Alyaran made it to the beach fairly quickly. The water had frozen over almost as far as he could see, excepting a few ice-blue pools where gulls waded.

The beach itself was covered in an odd sort of sand-snow mix. He let Alyaran off his leash, tossed him a few snowballs as they walked along the water's edge. Ice coated the rock outcrop where he had dropped the hermit crab a few months earlier. Children played on the ice near it.

It was snowing. Not much, but enough to add a magical, wintry air to the place. The tree-lined street behind him appeared vague and white.

"Gordon?"

He looked up from Alyaran, who was dancing excitedly about his ankles. A woman in a dark red coat was approaching, with black hat and gloves.

"Hello?" he called.

As she approached, he realized that it was Ruthie…Ruth. He had visited Mrs. Rosenthal regularly, even knowing she was being taken care of. He and Ruth had never spoken much, and she was often gone in the evenings.

"Ruth!" he said. "How are you?"

"Oh, fine," she said, walking with him. "And yourself?"

"Alright. How's your grandmother?"

Ruth smiled. "As usual."

"Wonderful."

They walked side by side. Awkward silence.

"Do you like music?" she asked suddenly.

"Oh," he said, "Very much."

"Would you like to go to the symphony some time? I can get you tickets quite easily."

Glorfindel, though he did not slow, was somewhat taken aback. He must have looked so, because she laughed. _She is certainly no Helen_, he thought.

"No, no," she said quickly. "Not like that. I'm _in_ the symphony…cello. My grandmother seemed to think you'd like it."

He let out a breath. Why was he relieved? When had he become so isolated?

He did not bother to answer his questions. He knew why.

"Yes," he said. "I would like to go to the symphony. I haven't been in a very long time."

She smiled. "I rather thought so. Everyone needs music."

He nodded.

"What's his name?" she asked after a while.

"Who's?"

"Your dog's."

"Oh, Alyaran."

"He's very sweet."

"He is."

They reached the end of the beach. There was a pier, but there wasfragile-looking ice under it, ankle deep. He did not fancy crossing it. They turned around.

Through the snow, he could see the dark shapes of the children.

"They shouldn't be out there," said Ruth. "I grew up here, and I know about ice."

Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow. "Is this from experience?"

She nodded, rolling her eyes. "I was seven, and I wanted to go skating."

"Ah."

They finished the length of the beach in silence. It wasn't dark yet, and Glorfindel guessed the time to be around four o'clock.

Glorfindel watched the boys contemplatively.

"Gordon?"

"Hmm?"

"Come visit Nana this week. She hasn't been feeling one hundred percent for the past few days, and I know how you cheer her up."

"Oh," he said. "Of course I will. Anything I can do…?"

She shook her head. "No. We're fine. She's just getting old, is all."

He knew what was going to happen an instant before it really did; he heard it in the quiet protest of the ice. He froze, watching the boys on the ice. There were two. They could hear it now, the buckling. One boy threw himself across the ice on his belly, slid into the snow bank on the beach. The other struggled to reach for some toy as the ice around him split from the main pack. Water welled up around the cracks, and he was bobbing alone on a shrinking island.

Ruth gasped and bent to take off her shoes.

"No," he said, taking off his own and throwing his cloak and sweater onto the snow. "Stay here." He pulled off his hat and gloves.

She was a smart girl. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket. He heard her voice as he turned away,

"The city beach, yes. Seventh Avenue. A little boy has fallen through the ice, my friend has gone to get him-"

Someone else had arrived, frantic- the boy's mother, prehaps?

And then, with a small cry, the child's head disappeared into the water. Glorfindel, knowing that he himself could not fall through, closed the gap between them.

The water wasn't very deep here, but it was _cold._ He plunged his arm in to the shoulder, searching for the boy. His fingers snagged on a coat. Laying on his belly, he grabbed hold with both his hands, pulled.

The boy surfaced after no more than a minute of submersion, and Glorfindel brought him up, onto the ice. It immediately started to crack under the weight. The child was gasping and whimpering. He slid the boy away from the gaping hole, swung him across the ice like a bowling ball, into the snow.

By now, he was up to his waste in water. The child had weighed him down too much, and he had broken through. But the boy was out of the water now, and Ruth was taking off his sodden clothes and wrapping him in hers and Glorfindel's cloaks.

With sigh, he heaved himself out of the water, and, shivering, walked slowly onto the beach.

The boy's nose was bleeding and he was shaking violently, but he was conscious.Glorfindel heard sirens. He was suddenly very tired. He looked for Alyaran, saw him sniffing anxiously at the boy.

"Here!" he called to him. Alyaran came, and Glorfindel put his leash back on. "Ready to go home?" He received no answer.

Unnoticed by Ruth, the boy, or the medics, he slipped away andescaped back to his apartment.

(l)

"What was that?" Ruth asked. She had come to his door not an hour later to check on him. And also, Glorfindel mused, to iterrogate him.

"What?" He dreaded the question.

"You didn't fall through until you were holding him."

"Oh." He thought, chewing the inside of his lip. "I grew up where it was very cold. There's a trick to walking on ice, and we were all quite good at it."

She eyed him skeptically. He did not invite her inside. "I don't believe you. And what's with your ears?"

"Hmm?" He resisted the urge to make sure his hair was covering them.

"You took off your cap. And they weren't normal."

He laughed. "Relics of wild college days."

"You're young. Your college days were probably more recent than mine."

He shrugged. "You never know."

"Yeah," she said. "And you ought to be a block of ice by now. Your pants are _soaked._"

He shrugged again. "Another little trick. Never admit to yourself you _are _cold. Mind of matter, that sort of thing."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she wasn't convinced.

"You're a very strange man, Gordon Findel. You're more than meets the eye."

He chuckled. "Perhaps you are right."

(l)

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Kazbels: _Thanks! And thank you for reviewing my holiday ficlet- it being my first foray out of Tolkien-land, I was rather anxious. Happy holidays!

_Starlit Jewel:_ Thanks! Of course I'll continue! ;)

_Perelleth:_ A lurker come out of hiding? Terrific! Thanks for reviewing…this chapter was a little less 'normal'. I'm nervous about how it will fly with readers, so I hope you like it!

_Crystal113:_ Emmm…enroll him in a cooking class:P Another update should be coming soon- I'm pretty well snowed under right now. Not much to do besides writing and shoveling. :D

_Avalon Estel:_ Wow! Thank you for all the reviews! I'm glad you like this story. Glorfindel is my favorite. :D

_Joou Himeko Dah:_ Thanks!

_Dark Borg Drone: _Ugh. Printers. The bane of our existence!

_Saturn's Hikari: _Thanks for the reviews:) As for Elrohir and Elladan, maybe I will write some of them in the future. I've never been to Norway, but much of my family is from there, so we have a lot of pictures. It _is _beautiful. Thanks for reviewing my holiday ficlet!

_Noldo:_ I've inspired you? This is fantastic!Terrific! Whoo!This is all part of my secret plan to take over the world:P Well, I think we need as many Glorfindel stories as we can get, and I know you'd do a wonderful job. :) Good luck on your exams!


	20. An Adagio

_-Note-_ You know, I don't think I can write a chapter of this without some orange and spice tea next to me. Does this mean that orange and spice tea is my muse? /ponders/ Anyway, I'm going to say here that Glorfindel has crossed the Grinding Ice. Tolkien didn't tell us if he actually did it, but in this story, he did. :P

Thank you for all the birthday wishes! :D

_-Disclaimer-_ Please see chapter 1.

An Adagio

When he visited her later that week, Mrs. Rosenthal was already on the tail end of the cold. They drank their tea, just the two of them, enjoying the peace and quiet. Ruth was not there, and when they met by chance in the lobby, she asked no more questions. Glorfindel suspected Mrs. Rosenthal had shushed her- he could imagine the old woman doing just that.

Glorfindel decided that even if he told Mrs. Rosenthal the truth about himself, she wouldn't care much. She was old and wise, and she was his friend. Some things, she had once told him, are just ridiculously unimportant.

(l)

He returned to the beach a week later. There had been a thaw, and temperatures had _finally_ breached the freezing mark. The snow had melted, leaving behind and unpleasant sort of slush-and-sand mixture. Alyaran seemed pleased with it, and proceeded to roll in it.

He resigned himself to the prospect of a dog bath, turned away from the dirty animal. He was caught completely at unawares to see that he was being followed- from a lengthy distance, but he was certainly being trailed.

"Hello?" he called. The person stopped. He couldn't see much past a thick cloak and scarf. He realized it was a child.

"Where is your mother?" he asked, approaching the stranger.

The child- a boy- took off his hood. Was Glorfindel supposed to recognize him?

"She's in there," said the boy. He pointed a gloved finger in the direction of the sandwich shop. Glorfindel saw a woman sitting in a window booth, watching them.

"Don't you remember me?" asked the boy.

Glorfindel hesitated.

"You saved me."

"Oh!" said Glorfindel, wondering why he had not thought of that. "How are you?"

"Fine."

The boy was staring at him. His mouth was open. Glorfindel fought the urge to tell him that he'd catch a fly in it if he kept it open much longer.

"Are you an angel?" His voice was still high, having not yet broken.

"An angel?" Glorfindel repeated incredulously. "A…an…no, I'm not. Why…?"

"I thought…I thought you glowed."

Glorfindel winced inwardly. "No, it's a trick of the water and sun."

"It was cloudy."

"You were seeing something, child."

"Yes, sir." Disappointment was foremost in the boy's tone, and maybe a little intimidation.

Glorfindel stepped closer, kneeled before him. He set a hand on the child's shoulder.

"Child," he said, "Not all good deeds happen because of magic. Sometimes, they just _happen_. No flashes of light, no magic, no angels. Just people."

Glorfindel frowned. He was lying- caught by surprise and needing to play hero, he probably had cast aside something of his mild pretext. And at the same time, he spoke the truth. For all their faults, Men were capable of good- there was no need for magic beyond kindness.

"So you're not-"

"No," he lied, "I am just like you."

Alyaran pulled at the leash. Glorfindel grinned apologetically to the boy. "My dog says it's time to go. Take care of yourself, lad."

"You too."

Glorfindel nodded, walked past the boy.

He had put a reasonable distance between them when he heard the boy call something out to him. Glorfindel turned. The boy repeated.

"Thank you!"

(l)

It was cold again. The month of March was like this; teetering back and forth between blessed warmth and freezing cold.

He did not care for this month.

His symphony ticket in his jacket pocket, he got into his car, put the keys in the ignition. He jerked the key forward.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Again.

Some sort of whine from the engine.

He slipped his gloves off and tried it again.

_Whiiiiiiine_.

He sighed. "Have it your way," he said to his car. Not surprisingly, it did not respond. He got out, locked it, walked out of the parking garage, headed for the subway.

He had always been rather taken with the idea of a subway. For some reason, he thought being whisked off in an underground car was an exciting adventure; he could remember the first subway cars, and a time when the general rule of "No eye contact" did not apply. It made him feel old.

The subway was cold and dank. Trains whisked by, rattling and blowing his hair back in their wind. It was fairly crowded; people coming home late from work or dinner. Above the noise, he heard a saxophone from the street above, it's music floating down through the stairwell. He heard the jingle of coins in plastic cups.

The letters on the schedule board flipped down; two minutes until his train. He fingered the subway pass in his pocket, stepped through the turnstile. Lights embedded into the floor began to blink. He heard the train's approach, felt it through the cement floor. With a rush of air, it appeared, grinding to a halt with a screech of brakes.

He put the pass back into his pocket, stepped to the train, past an outcropping of wall. He looked beyond it; a gaunt man, sitting against it, with a cup in his outstretched hand. He looked away, then back to him. The man was watching him intently. His mold-colored gloves were cut off at the fingers, his long, black duster was patched and frayed. His blue eyes were sharp and clear, dark hair flowed long from under a brown cap.

They watched each other for a moment. Glorfindel, transfixed and taken aback, was frozen. Then, the stranger nodded. Glorfindel fumbled in his pocket, withdrew a dollar bill, placed it gently into the cup. There was a traveling lyre- no, Glorfindel corrected himself, a harp, by the stranger's side.

"You'll miss your train," said the stranger. He spoke musically, his accent soft and lilting. Glorfindel blinked quickly, tipped his own cap, and made it through the doors as they closed. He wanted to speak to the stranger, to learn more, but he respected the other's choice and silence.

He looked back at the man as he found a seat by the window, but the other had already looked away. Then, the subway car jolted forward, the station fell behind, the man disappeared.

He arrived ten minutes into the program. He found his seat- second level, first row. The hall was large and old, with paintings across the sloping ceiling of chubby angels, flowers, women, children.

Some sort of piano concerto was playing. He had heard it before, when he had been traipsing around Vienna with the twins and Lindir.

He relaxed. The music was slow this evening, and it ended with a relatively short piece, by Barber. Adagio for Strings. It had something of a hallowed feel for him, simple and beautiful. The sort of thing that could take his breath away, if he wasn't careful. He could see the overlook in Thranduil's haven in his mind's eye.

Ruth sat in half of the cello section farther away from the conductor. Newly hired, he supposed she would be sitting there for a few months at least.

The program ended, and he waited for the crowd to leave before he did. The hall was nearly empty when he left, the voices of a few musicians and concertgoers echoing from the carved walls. He picked up his cloak at the coat check booth, headed back to the subway, shreds of Barber's Adagio creeping about in his mind. His breath froze in the air.

He caught the subway, stepped off at his stop. He passed the empty wall against which the stranger had leaned, strode through the dark streets, rode the elevator to his apartment. He warmed up a freezer dinner, and when he had finished, he went to bed.

He dreamed that night, to music. As if a symphony was playing in his head. He dreamt of snow and ice, and a sea billowing before the gale. Then the sea turned to a white sail, and through the clouds, he saw the sun setting in the west.

(l)

Adagio for Strings was composed by the 20th century composer Samuel Barber. If you haven't heard it, you've missed out!

Thanks for reading! Review Responses:

_Kazbels:_ Thanks! Glorfindel makes a terrific hero, and he ought to be old hat at it by now!

_Avalon Estel:_ Alas, no Dunadan. But I am very flattered that my story is worthy of tailing! NaNoWriMo (sorry I forgot to explain this in last chapter's responses) is National Novel Writing Month. Between November 1st and November 30th, participants try to write a 50,000 word novel. You can find out more about it at www. nanowrimo .org (take the spaces out, first). Thanks for reviewing "Old Song!"

_Crystal113:_ Hmm…I'm sure the police would be a bit boggled. He'd have to make up some sort of pitiful story…I'm glad it didn't happen! :) Thanks for bugging Lady Lunas to add "A Friday" to her C2! :D

_Starlit Jewel:_ Thanks! A (somewhat late) Merry Christmas to you, too! :P

_Joou Himeko Dah:_ Ruth and Glorfindel? Mmm…it could happen, but I'm not much of a romantic, so chances are slim. Sorry!

_Shadowlessphantom:_ I agree! There is a dire need of more Glorfindel stories! Hey, without him, we'd be short a ringbearer (and I will happily disregard Arwen in the movie!).

_Lady Lunas:_ Thanks, and thank you for reviewing "Old Song"! About the C2 community, I don't mind at all. And congratulations, novelist! Hooray! My name is Andante there- I think I've seen you around the LotR thread.

_Noldo:_ It's wonderful to hear from you, and thanks for reviewing "Old Song". _Jealous_ of my weather? I'm jealous of yours! 17? That's in the 60's for Fahrenheit! That's _amaizing!_ And warm! As I posted the last chapter, it was a full -3 Fahrenheit outside. I'd email you a picture, but it's all starting to melt and turn into slush. Maybe next time…


	21. A Visit

_-Note-_ Um...January is shaping up to be a hectic month for me, so I don't know when updates will come. Not many chapters left, won't say how many. :P

And because so many of you asked if it was Maglor in the subway: I left it ambiguous because it's of no real importance other than to bring another "facet" of Elven life into view, and mystery is so much more fun! Does this call for an evil cackle? I hope not…

_-Disclaimer-_ Please see chapter 1.

A Visit

Seasons passed. People grew older, Alyaran grew wider, and Glorfindel stayed the same.

He found himself, one Thursday during his lunch break, riding the elevator to the third floor of an unfamiliar building, walking through sterile, off-white halls that were, for the moment, silent. If Glorfindel had never been in a modern hospital before, he did not show it. He knocked on the door of room 344. It opened.

"Hi," said Ruth. There were others in the room- a man, and two older women. "You got my message?"

Glorfindel nodded.

"Come in," she said. "This is my brother, Ben. These are my aunts, Hanna and Beth. My father's in the cafeteria. This is Gordon. He's a friend."

"Hello," he said awkwardly, realizing he should not have come. "I'm so sorry…"

"Do you want a moment with her?" asked Ruth gently. Her eyes were red.

"Yes, please," he said. "Is that okay?"

"Of course. We'll be back in half an hour."

"Alright, see you. Get some lunch, Ruth."

Ruth nodded, took her red coat from the hook beside the door, and left, her family following her.

He was alone in the small room. Well, not quite.

"Hello, Mrs. Rosenthal," he said.

Mrs. Rosenthal didn't answer, of course. She answered to no one, now. Glorfindel had not been told why; he had come home briefly on his lunch break to walk Alyaran and seen his message light blinking. Ruth had told him to come, and he had.

The frail body under the sheets did not resemble the lively, plump Mrs. Rosenthal he had known. Yes, she had been ailing for a few months, but he hadn't noticed anything drastic. He cursed himself for not paying more attention.

He remembered the slow trickle of gifts and trinkets she had given him over the last few months. A linen tablecloth, a few plates, candlesticks, some pet toys too small for Alyaran. And he wondered if perhaps she had known, if Ruth had known, and if that was why Ruth had come.

He sat in the chair beside the bed and took Mrs. Rosenthal's bony, arthritic hand in both of his own. She was wearing one of those horrid hospital gowns, a tube came from the inside of her elbow. A line of faded black ink stood out on her forearm.

"Mrs. Rosenthal," he said slowly, "there's something I want to tell you." And it was true; he _wanted _to tell her. He didn't have to or need to, and she had never made him, even though Glorfindel knew she wondered about him from time to time.

And so he told her everything.

(l)

Ruth did not return for an hour. When she opened the door, Glorfindel had already prepared himself to meet her.

"Thank you," he said, embracing her quickly.

"No problem," she said.

"Is there anything you need?"

She shook her head, bit her lip. Glorfindel hugged her a second time, longer than the first.

"It's like this world, only better. Clearer, like this one was meant to be," he whispered into her ear.

She exhaled shakily into his shoulder, he swept dark hair from her face.

"I know it for truth," he said.

(l)

When he returned from work that evening, he found himself disregarding Ruth's insistence that she didn't need anything. He mustered his courage, pulled out a box of noodles, and began to cook.

He was stunned (and maybe a little proud) to find that the spaghetti was actually _good_. Edible. Delicious, dare he say it?

He dumped the meal into a Tupperware container, scribbled _"can be reheated"_ on a sticky note he pressed onto the lid, put the whole thing in a brown paper bag. As a second thought, he put a bag of salad into the bag, as well.

He took the elevator down to the next floor, knocked on Mrs. Rosenthal's door. Ruth answered, gave him a watery smile as he invited himself in. He recognized her brother, who was sitting on the couch.

"I thought you might want this…" he said. "Spaghetti's the only thing I can cook, but I'd be happy to keep doing this."

Ruth's brother took the bag from him and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Please," she said, gesturing to the couch. "You can stay. Have you eaten yet?"

"I've eaten," he lied. "Is there anything…?"

"No," Ruth said quickly. "We're fine. I can cook, so can Ben and Dad…"

"Alright," said Glorfindel. "Call me if you need anything, or if anything changes."

"I will," she said. She took a breath. "My grandmother liked you very much. I think she was rather protective of you."

Glorfindel smiled. "She's a good friend." He checked his watch, feigned surprise. "It's late," he said, "and I'll leave you two to some peace and quiet."

"Oh," said Ruth, and for a second Glorfindel thought she would ask him to stay. "Alright. And you've got work in the morning. I'll see you around, okay? And I'll call."

Glorfindel nodded, went to the door. They stared at each other for a moment of awkward silence before Glorfindel, not really minding how ridiculous it seemed in this Age, bobbed his head in a half-bow. Then, he left.

(l)

He heated himself up another microwave dinner, some kind of chicken-with-noodles dish. Alyaran begging at his heels, he ate at the head of his glossy formal table, listening to the television from the other room. When he had finished, he discarded the disposable dinner dish, fed Alyaran. He cleaned up the spaghetti pots, cut his finger on an empty can of tomato sauce. He bit back an oath as blood welled up and he felt the stinging pain, and reached for a box of tissues.

The cut scabbed over quickly- he was an Elf, after all.

He looked at his hands, strong and young-looking. Years in the safety of the city had made him forget what he was capable of, had made him forget the feel of the sword and the sound of battle. He was powerful, even among the most powerful of his own people. He had slain a Balrog, he had faced the Úlairi more than once, he had witnessed the first defeat of Sauron.º And yet, he could not hold back time, for all his desire to do so. Such was the weight of his people.

(l)

Happy New Year, everyone!

º _Úlairi: Ringwraiths. The most we know about Glorfindel's post-Balrog pre-Fellowship days is that he made the prophecy concerning the Witch-King during the days of Angmar. He may or may not have been a member of the Last Alliance, but I assume here that he was._

Thanks for reading! Review responses:

_Avalon Estel:_ Happy almost-birthday! I Googled Adagio for Strings and found out it was in _Platoon_ and _The Elephant Man_ (both are movies). You want to NaNo next year? Hooray! It's a lot of fun.

_Starlit jewel: _Yes, he does. I can't just leave him here, stuck with a bunch of humans! :P Or maybe I can…

_Kazbels:_ Thanks! As for his ears, it's unlikely that any stranger on the subwaywill come up to him out of the blue and ask about them- it's not polite, and people don't often talk to strangers. Should they actually ask, he can dismiss them or blame it on any number of things- wild college days, "I was in a band", or even, "they're natural". Adagio for Strings is one of my favorites, up there with the Bach Cello Suites and (surprise, surprise!) Canon in D.

_Lady Lunas: _You have Elrohir as your muse? Then how did I get tea as mine? can i exchange tea for an Elf? Nah, too much of a tea lover. Hmm...

_Noldo:_ Ah! If only I could use my new-found psychic powers to switch weather with you! Don't worry about the concert- my grandparents took me a lot when I was younger (thus my inability to sit through one today!). I'm glad Glorfindel's concert seemed real! You cut your hand on a bottle? Ouch! I hope it feels better!

_Crystal113:_ You said: "Why do I get the feeling he will be telling them soon?" I got this review and started laughing, because I had already known that he would. I don't listen to much classical either, but my sister (also plays violin) got me hooked on Adagio.

_Unsung Heroine:_ Thanks! I'm rather of the opinion that it was Daeron or someone else entirely, but I wanted to let everyone to decide for themselves. When I read something like that, it always gets me thinking. Like the end of _The_ _Giver_ did…I'm still convinced the boy (Jonas, I think?) survived, but most of my teachers have disagreed. And if you haven't read _The Giver_, you've probably missed the analogy…sorry!

_Perelleth:_ I'm glad you've heard that Adagio! I was hoping a few readers had. I agree- it would be wonderful to meet an Elf! :) "like snow falling without wind"- thank you for that lovely compliment!

_Earendil Eldar: _Thanks! I'll look for that! Thank you for reviewing- it's very reassuring to hear that it's realistic.

_Joou Himeko Dah:_ Thanks! I'll get the next chapter posted as soon as I can!

_Shadowlessphantom:_ Absolutely! I really missed him in the movies- he should have been there! I have decided, however, that the Elf standing next to Elladan at the end of Return of the King (you know, with Arwen coming out from behind the standard) is Glorfindel. He deserves a part!


	22. A Friday

_-Note-_ This is it. Enormous thank-yous to everyone who read and reviewed- without you, this would still be a one-shot. This chapter is for you.

_-Disclaimer-_ Please see chapter 1.

A Friday

Years went by, one, two, ten…He moved from his apartment in the city to a small house in the suburbs. It had a garden, and while it was decidedly less beautiful than Celeborn's, Glorfindel was proud of it. In his older days, Alyaran had liked to sun himself in the backyard, a plastic dog bone under his front paws.

Now, the backyard was empty, the food and water bowls by the door in the kitchen were gathering dust, the small house was silent during the day. Glorfindel drove to work each morning in his old, silver Mercedes, and did not come back until late in the evening. He worked at a different company, now, under a different name.

But today he had taken the day off. It was Autumn again, and the season was at its finest. A crisp breeze fluttered long, gauzy curtains, morning sun slanted through the window. On the mantle in the empty sitting room were a number of pictures: a golden-haired dog, an old woman, two identical brothers, a forest lake, a laughing woman in a red coat.

In all, it would have been a peaceful scene, had not strange and ominous muttering been coming from the kitchen.

A tall Elf leaned over a cookbook laden with recipes, his floury index finger pointed on a yellowing index card with _Mrs. Rosenthal's Cookies_ in bold print on the top.

Glorfindel sighed, surveyed the bowl of cookie mix before him. He did not remember her cookies being quite this color…or having such a bland taste…or powdery in texture…

He seized the carton of milk, poured some into the bowl. Probably too much milk, he realized too late. He stirred halfheartedly, ignoring a splash on the front of his shirt. He gave up, proceeded to shape the cookies onto the sheet.

He slipped on a pair of oven mitts, put the cookie sheet in the oven. He flicked on the oven light, contemplated his cookies as they baked.

Apparently, spaghetti was not out of his reach; cookies, however, were far too much to ask of his skill. He watched with faint amusement as the watery dough had spread in the oven, until one enormous, blackened cookie was all that remained on the baking sheet and drips lay burning at the bottom.

Whenit was done, he summoned up the courage to try a slice of the cookies-gone-wrong. It was foul. He leaned over the garbage can, and in a fit of laughter, spat it out.

He sat back in a chair at his table, chuckling at the monster cookie before him. It pleased him, somehow, to know that some things would never change.

That evening, as the air cooled, he went to his coat closet, wrapped himself in a ratty, green cloak. He sat on his porch, swinging in the hanging chair, looking out on the empty, residential street. The sky was clear, but street lamps obscured most of the stars.

Clematis grew up the porch columns, swayed in the wind. A car meandered down the road.

He put his feet up on the railing andleaned back.

(l)

He received a postcard that Autumn, from a place on the sea. It wasn't in Elvish.

_We are ready._

He held in shaking hands, breathed in, out. In, out.

We are ready.

That very week, he stopped his rental contract, stepped down from his company position. He packed brown bag lunch into his car, set a book – The Fall of Numenor- in the passenger seat, drove west, to the coast.

It was Friday, at last.

It was Friday, thank the Valar, and he was going home.

(l)

The End

Thanks for reading! Review responses:

_Kazbels: _Don't worry about it! Thank you for all of the reviews- I always look forward to reading them.

_Starlit jewel: _Don't worry, don't worry! I am of the opinion that Glorfindel ought to be a silly bachelor, unless the author can write romance _very _well. Don't we all wish he could be ours? :P

_Melannen Halfelven:_ Thanks! I'll definitely keep writing- especially about Glorfindel. :)

_Avalon Estel:_ :D Thank you! I'm sorry this may have ended too soon for you, but I wanted to get Glorfindel home and happy. :) Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews!

_Crystal113:_ Did you know you were the only one who caught the ink on the forearm (or at least, told me)? But yes, she is. I wanted Glorfindel to be friends with someone who knew as much as he did about life and death, and I can't really think of anyone better than Mrs. Rosenthal.

_Lady Lunas: _What kind of tea do I like? Hmm…orange & spice and regular, I think, but I haven't tried many other kinds out there. There was quite a time gap between this chapter and the last- I put it at about 50 years, but it's fairly inconsequential. Did he tell Ruth anything? Maybe I'll elaborate on that someday, but I do know right now that Glorfindel's got a picture of her on his mantle.

_Unsung Heroine:_ The Giver is by Lois Lowery- kind of a dis-utopian book set in a "big-brother" society. I'm curious- what's Spaghetti Napoli?

_Ellie in ElfPajamas: _Thanks! I hope the ending hasn't disappointed you!

_Stuntz:_ Thanks! Well, he _could_ be Maglor, just like he could be Daeron, or another Elf, or just another panhandler in the subway…:P You decide! Thank you for being such a loyal reviewer! I enjoy hearing from you!

_Joou Himeko Dah:_ Yes, poor Ruth. She'll be okay, though. Thank you!

_Randa-Chan:_ Thank you! Yes, she was asleep when he told her. I think, if she had been awake, she wouldn't have been ruffled at all by her Gordon being an Elf. She's an unflappable lady, Mrs. Rosenthal. I've grown very fond of her, and the last chapter was hard to write. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

_TrinityTheSheDevil: _Thank you! I went to your website (very pretty! :), and yes, it's fine with me. Thanks very much for asking me- I really appreciate it. And thank youfor the lovely recommendation! :)


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